Oh, Bugger Me Sideways
by PsyckoSama
Summary: In all those SIs where people are dumped into Westeros, they always lament about how bad they've got it. Well, they don't got shit. It could be much worse. They could have been dumped into the body of Lyanna Stark. Broken, bloodied, genderbent, with a new born bastard, and enough emotional baggage to fill a airport...
1. Oh, Bugger Me Sideways

Rich or Poor. Black or White. Man or Woman. King or Beggar. No matter your race, creed, wealth, or social position, there's only two absolutes in life. We all enter the world screaming, in terror and in agony. And everyone dies.

Thankfully both are something most of us only have to experience once. I say most of us because there's an exception to that rule and you're looking at him.

Her.

Fuck. I don't even know anymore.

I can barely remember it. How I died once and was born twice.

I was at a Flea Market as I often am. I like the haggle. I like the deals. It's a game. You try and pay as little as you can. They try and get as much as they can. You come to an agreed amount and everyone comes out happy. Or at least satisfied. And I'm good at it.

Maybe it's just self-recrimination, but I can't help but think that I should have seen it coming.

I saw it out of the corner of my eye. A pile of old hunting junk and a battered lever action rifle. I froze for a second and wondered if anyone really was dumb enough to sell a firearm at a Flea Market.

It had to be a BB gun or something, I told myself as I'd passed by his stand.

Then I'd heard the bang. Felt the pain. And out the corner of my eye, saw stupid, standing slack jawed next to some redneck motherfuck. And in his hand was the smoking gun.

Literally.

It was loaded. Of all the stupid, idiotic, moronic shit, that fucking idiot was trying to sell a loaded weapon at a flea market. And it went off. And I'd been shot.

People rushed to me. It's a bit gratifying. For a split second they actually gave a fuck. But I knew I was dead. I could feel my life slipping away and the sick feeling of my lungs filling with my own blood.

Dying is the second single most terrifying thing imaginable. The pain of the injury. The numbness as life fades. The overwhelming knowledge of what is happening and the sensation of your mind slowly dimming to nothing no matter how hard you try and grasp to that last lingering sliver of life as you fall down into the abyss of nothingness.

What's even worse though, that's the sensation of being reborn.

If death is darkness, then birth is not like having a spotlight shot in your eyes after an hour in the dark. The sensation, it burns. Everything is overwhelming. Every light a fire in your skull. Every sound an explosion in your head. Every touch a sandblaster against the skin.

Adaptation is rapid, but until that moment it is agony beyond even death.

As the pain faded to a mere dull roar, much of it was replaced by fatigue. Though maybe fatigue wasn't the best word to describe the magnitude of it. It was like a weight on my mind and soul that threatened to pull me back into that damnable abyss.

Slowly I groaned. Had I survived? Was I in a hospital?

Fighting the burning of the light, I slowly opened my eyes and released a slow groan of pain.

What I saw wasn't what I expected. Red stone. A canopy bed. Two men off to the side, one with a babe in arms his head hung low with radiant grief the other giving him comfort. And they were dressed in what looked like armor. Grey and black and green and black. Actual medieval armor.

It's part of human nature to state the obvious and I'm was no different. "This isn't a hospital," I said in confusion. It looked like I'd fallen into a fucking Ren fair.

Or at least attempted to. What I actually said was probably closer to "Is-in-ah-optia" . It was enough however to attract the attention of the one green.

"Gods man! She still lives!"

The follow in the grey seemed to teleport to my side, his eyes full of hope and joy, his mouth open in a soundless exclamation of joy.

Even attempting to speak had taken more out of me than I'd expected as my head swam from the strain. If he said anything I heard none of it. But in my punch drunken state I was able to discorn a couple factors.

He looked like a young Sean Bean. There was a wolf's head on his chest. And I recognized him from somewhere.

Funny thing that.

Then I was hit with the third blow for the day. A jumble of images and ideals was forced into my mind, an unintelligible mass of thought and awareness. And with it came recognition.

Ned. Brother.

Howland. Friend.

As more and more moved into clarity, I shrieked in agony as the knowledge of another life threatened to overwhelm me.

"Lyanna!"

... Me.

I was Lyanna Stark. I was in the Tower of Joy. That baby was Jon. My son. And I was in the fucking Song of Ice and Fire.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to rant. I wanted to run about ranting and cursing unintelligibly in the midst of a full on psychotic emotional breakdown. I wanted to sunder the skies and turn back time. But I couldn't do any of that.

But what I could do was this.

Mustering what energy I had left, I expressed myself as best I could considering the limited resources I had at hand.

"Oh, bugger me sideways."

My voice was tired but still somehow sweet, and my statement as clear as a ringing bell.

For a moment I enjoyed the look of absolute confusion on Eddard's face. I... She... We... always loved fucking with Ned and this was a two for one.

I smiled. And then I stopped holding onto consciousness and let the abyss have me once more.

Fuck it all.

I'll deal with this shit in the morning.


	2. Let it Go

The next morning came far too fast by my approximation. As consciousness slowly claimed me I couldn't help but notice how sore I felt in places that until now I'd never possessed as well as a couple I'd had before.

I don't know how long I spent in bed, eyes open looking up at the canopy of the bed, but dear god. Gods. Whatever... was I terrified by the reality I'd found myself trapped in.

I was Lyanna Stark. I'd just given birth to Jon fucking Snow. So there's one theory proven, though I could have done without the abdominal pain and lingering memories of _serial rape_ that came with the knowledge.

Which proved or at least contributed to another theory. Lyanna. Me. Hadn't been with The Motherfucker... no. I was not calling him by name. Ever. Even thinking it made my skin crawl. Calling him by the name of the psychotically moronic man-child villain from Kick Ass suited me fine.

I... Lyanna. Damn these blurry memories... had gone with him willing. At first. Gotten a bug in her ass about Mya Stone's existence and decided that if Lord Bob could have a bastard, than maybe he didn't deserve her maidenhead.

The Motherfucker had been charming, romantic, and interesting. Very much, at least from my completely neutral and and utterly unbiased point of view the shallow charisma of a functional sociopath. It was a fun three days. Then I tried to go back. And that was the point The Motherfucker started ranting about prophecy, the princess that was promised, and the Song of Ice and Fire.

And that's where things turned to hell. Especially when Bran and Father were killed.

Shit. Fucking altered perceptions. I know they're not my memories but...

"FUCK!"

"Lya, are you alright?"

I blinked and sat up. Ned was on a chair right next to me the whole damned time. Was so lost in my mind and dealing with this insanity that I hadn't even noticed.

Part of me knew him as a character. Lord Eddard Stark from A Song of Ice and fire. A honorable dumbass who got his head lopped off because he was foolish enough to trust the most awful women on the continent and her ill begotten hellspawn.

The other called him Brother.

That loss of identity. It was just another price of the endless indignities being laid upon my person and psyche.

"I just almost died of fever and blood loss after giving birth to my kidnappers rape child," I replied with sickly sweetness. "How I'm alive I don't even know. But in general, I'll have to say no, at this particular moment I'm feeling pretty fucking awful."

He frowned. I knew my behavior was somewhat uncharacteristic. Lya, the wild wolf she was, was still more demure than my generally tactless and no fucks given approach I was taking. But if I was going to be stuck in this hellhole of world. In this body not my own. In this situation from the depths of my worst fucking nightmares. Yeah. I was going to be as salty as I could get away with.

"Lya," he said after a moment's thought, "Maybe you should lie back down."

"Fuck that," I replied with a scowl. "What I need is a bath. I feel like I've been rolling around in my own filth for gods know how long and..."

My rant was interrupted by crying. And there was little Jon, screaming for his mommy. Little tyke was probably hungry. Something I could empathise with because the very thought made my stomach growl like an angry tiger.

It also made my start lactating. God fucking damn it will this shit Never... Fucking... End!

"Give me my son," I said fighting down the urge to dry heave at what I was about to have to do. "He's hungry."

"I sent Howland to fetch a midwife to examine your condition and a wet nurse for the boy."

"That's wonderful," I replied, "But he's hungry now. So please give me my son."

My son. I shudder at the thought. Though at least I knew he wouldn't inherit his father's charming personality. Jon Snow was a good kid. And he was my kid. And I'd make sure he didn't grow up with the mother of all inferiority complexes.

Eddard nodded and fetched the boy from his crib at my bedside and presented him to me.

Taking a deep breath to steel myself I opened my night shirt to expose a breast. And it was a nice breast if I say so myself. Would rather not see it on me, but still, nice tit.

Then I took a deep breath and looked up to Eddard who had my... bodies... child in hand.

I accepted him and then decided to indulge that evil little voice in my head who thought this was the perfect time to yank on his chain.

"Oi! Eddard! You a Wolf or a Dragon. Stop looking at your sister's tits!"

He flushed a deep scarlet and turned away as I brought the child up to my breast.

To say breast feeding a child was strange experience would be something of an understatement. It wasn't bad though. Rather calming to be honest. Probably because of the buckets of oxytocin and other endorphins it was dumping into my blood chemistry thanks to millions of years of mammalian evolution making sure that mommy would be happy to let a little crying poop monster suck on her funbags.

I sighed and leaned back, almost thankful for little Jon giving me a neuro-transmitter driven happy to keep me on just this side of a complete nervous breakdown.

My little titty leach keeping me sane. Oh joy...

I frowned. Great. I'd have to marry Robert Fucking Baratheon, The High Fratboy of Westeros. It's not that I wanted to. Lyanna hadn't been to big on the idea and I was a couple steps less pleased with it. But shit, I didn't want to live in a world where Cersei "Brotherfucker" Lannister was able to influence anything worth a damn.

I'd just need to figure out a way to keep his stupid out of the brothers and not blowing the royal treasury on hookers and blow.

And while I was at it maybe I could figure out a way to shoot lasers from my eyes and lighting bolts from my ass...

"Ned," I said after a long sigh. "So what's the plan," I asked. As a female in a "Hard-Core" version of medieval period I was pretty much stuck along for the ride.

Ned frowned. "I was considering ripping this tower down and having it used to build a cairn for the fallen. Willam Dustin, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, Ethan Glover, and Mark Ryswell all died to see you saved."

"Then have their bones returned to their families," I replied. I knew Dustin's wife would be less than pleased if he came home only with a horse.

Ned frowned for a moment and locked eyes with me. He didn't blink. Nor did I. And then he simply nodded. "Perhaps you are right. But their is still the issue of the Kingsguard. At least Arthur Dayne I can return to his kin."

"To hell with the Kingsguard," I spart with a contempt not at all my own. It was rather shocking and a little disturbing as my mouth seemed to almost take a life of its own. "Those _paragons of Southron chivalry_ stood by and watched as The Motherfucker raped me again and again. Forty-Seven times, Ned. I counted... For fucks sake. More than once, when I struggled too hard the oh so Great and Noble White Bull _helped hold me down_ while he finished! Hang the bodies for the fucking crows!"

I took a deep breath, my face flushed with fury and I considered what I'd said. Holy shit I've inherited some baggage.

"I..." Ned trailed off for a moment a bit overwhelmed by my fury. Couldn't blame him. So was I. "The Motherfucker?"

"Rhaegar," I spat. "Just saying his name makes my stomach churn."

"I still must return to Starfell," He replied, "If only to return Dawn."

"Why?" I countered. "Arthur Dayne was a good killer true, but in the end, he was hardly a man so much as a knight."

Oh yeah. Not one bit bitter.

"He died following his oaths," Ned replied, "They all did."

"Their oaths? Which oaths? The one where they swore to be brave? Swore to be just? To protect the innocent? To defend women? Which oaths, Ned?"

"Their oaths to their king, Lyanna!"

"Fuck their king!" I roared. "And it disgusts me that you'd protect their honor."

I snorted. "Honor. It's just a word to these southern crettins. You could take a crap in one hand, and gather the collective honor of the southern nobility in the other, and all you'd end up with two fist fulls of shit."

At that he seemed to take some offense. "I know plenty of honorable southerns. Jon is..."

"An opportunistic lord who's been grooming the realm for this rebellion for years."

"Lya!" He gasped.

"What, do you really think it was accidental that he fostered you, helped arrange my betrothal to your wine-soaked erection of a best friend..."

At that he flustered. "Robert's a good man, Lyanna and is to be your husband."

I snorted. "Not soon. Not after all this. And don't you dare say I'm wrong. The man drinks enough wine for seven... _the seven_ on a good night... and seems to trip and fall into every moist, lukewarm hole he stumbles across."

At this point Ned's jaw was hanging loose in shock at the sheer rawness of what I was saying. Lya always had a mouth when she was angry but my willful lack of tact seemed to drive it to the next level and beyond.

"That's why I left with The Motherfucker, you know. I wanted to spite him. He sires a bastard on a servant girl? Fine. Whatever. Then he could have sucked up and accepted he wasn't being given my maidenhead."

God that was wrong to think as much as say.

"It sure as hell wasn't in the plan for the psychotic, self-centered _motherfucker_ to kidnap me and rape me pregnant while ranting about prophecy and saying I should be honored."

I sneered. God why did the words come out and my brain not control them! "You know, I heard the squires say a couple of times that you don't 'stick it in the cray-cray'... guess the reverse is equally as true."

Looking utterly befuddled he simply mouthed the word, "Cray-cray?"

"Crazy, Ned. Don't stick it in the crazy."

He blinked. "Oh."

"But like I said, Jon Arryn has been planning this little rebellion since we were children. My kidnapping was just the flash point. Look at the network of alliances he formed. Stark. Tully. Baratheon. He would have pulled in Lannister too if the Mad King hadn't managed to bugger it up."

"How do you know this?"

"Let's see. I've been locked in this here tower for the better part of a year and my only entertainments have been trying to figure out ways to weave my bed clothes into a rope and listening to the three stooges who now lie late and unlamented on the stones below gossip like a sewing circle, intersected by the occasional round of serial rape. I've had a lot of time to ponder my navel, Ned."

I paused. "And maybe just maybe, madness brings with it an element of clarity."

His face just fell like someone just drowned every puppy in the realm.

"I'm so sorry, Lya..."

"I save blame for the guilty," I replied. And it was true. He wasn't the reason I was in this situation. Not as Lyanna and sure as hell not as the real me. "And you're just an mummer in this play as are we all. Though I can't help but feel as if I were the butt of some grand cosmic jape."

At my breast the squirming little brat that may or may not grow up to become Jon Snow stopped sucking and released a happy little burble.

With a sigh I held out the child and pulled my shirt back up.

As Ned accepted him, I added, "Please tell me you have food, Ned. I could eat a horse."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Of course, Lyanna."

He paused for a moment and looked back to me. "I'm... glad that you're well. You scared me for a time."

"I scare myself, and I'm far from well. But where there's life there's hope and that's really all that anyone can ask from the world now isn't it?"

A sound not unlike a purr rumbled through my throat as I lowered myself into the hot bath.

Oh yeah... that's the shit!

One thing they never really saw fit to mention in the books was that the Tower of Joy hadn't had any servants. Not a one. By the end of it, The Motherfucker in his growing paranoia had deemed that I... Lyanna... whatever... was to be kept as a prisoner to ensure that the fucking Third Head of the Dragon was protected, trusting the three stooges to handle everything.

The last months were were pretty much a prison sentence. Another reason I just fucking _loved_ the three of them so much.

While it had taken a day. A long day of awkward silence, crying babies, and milky nipples, Howland Reed, gods bless his Swamp Ninja heart, had delivered in spades.

On the air I could smell food cooking. Real food. Little Jon's cries were blissfully absent thanks to the wet nurse. And once I was done this bath I was due to have an actual midwife give me a post-natal. I'd make sure she washed the hell out of her hands before she as much as gets a look at 'my' lady parts, but still, it was going to be good to get what passes for medical care around here.

The tub was small, and the water lukewarm rather than the scalding heat I preferred but I could invent the heated bath and the hot shower later. In fact there was a laundry list of shit I needed to come up with over the next few years.

The reason was chilling. And that was no pun. Winter was coming. Literally, and if I was to fulfill my dream of dying content and in bed at the youthful age of 95, I needed to make sure I wasn't murdered by fucking Ice Zombies.

I sighed and dunked myself under the water.

While "I" had a bath just the last night, the fucking stooges hadn't given Lya access to a tub of water for months in fear she might drowned herself out of sheer spite. It had been cold wet rags for months and even then they'd bee few and in between.

The sick irony was that at the end of it all, he wouldn't have gotten his Visenya anyways.

No, Jon... if I decided to name him that... was more an Orys.

Orys. Be the perfect name to mock the memory of The Motherfucker. He was so obsessed with naming his kids after Aegon's siblings after all. Plus it was a sideways way of honoring the man who Whack-a-Moled the Motherfucker with a warhammer... and maybe a sympathetic name might help convince Robert to leave him be.

Need to talk about it with Ned.

"God my life is fucked," I muttered as I pressed my back against the edge of the wooden tub. Part of me couldn't really care less. Another part of me held what could only be called a primal affection that went above and beyond any real conscious intent. The body, this... me... had carried him for nine months and literally died to give him life.

Fuck it. I'll admit it. I actually love the kid... and I hate kids.

"Maybe if I close my eyes and wish really hard, I'll wake up in front of my fucking computer."

I closed my eyes.

"I wish I wish I wish I..."

I cracked and eye and... same fucking stone walls.

"And Fuck."

Well, it was worth a try. There would have been worse things than being back in the modern world trapped in the body of a teenage MILF. Like being stuck in this world as pretty much anyone, male, female, high lord, beggar...

The door creaked as it opened interrupting my internal monologue and in stepped a woman in her late middle ages. From the looks of her she was pretty in her youth, but now about halfway to qualifying as a crone. But despite this she still had bright eyes and a pleasantly maternal smile.

"So, I take if you're the midwife?" I asked, steeling myself for the fact that this woman would probably be poking my new form in places I hadn't even poked it yet.

"Aye, my dear," she replied with the calming tone of an experienced caregiver. "Though most mothers summon me before the babe comes."

"Most weren't being held prisoner by three shining paragons of chivalry hypocrisy," I replied bitterly.

"Aye, m'lady. Your brother and his companion said you had a hard birth. Blood and pain. Said they thought they even lost you they claim," her eyes narrowed. "You're awfully energetic for a girl who was on her deathbed this time yesterday."

"I'd attribute it to good diet and exercise but I've been stuck in this tower for the last six months," I replied.

"Sharp tongued too," she replied as she walked about the room, her eyes moving to the sheets which still bore the signs of my sons less than easy birth."Though the sheets bare witness to your tale..."

Mental Note. If I had to spend another night in this fucking place, either they were getting changed or I was sleeping on the fucking floor.

She bent down and took a sniff. "And also speak of a sickness in your womb."

A uterine infection. Wonderful. There goes my value as a broodmare.

Yeah...

She looked over. "Those men did you great disservice, but it seems the Mother protects, for by all rights you should be dead."

"You can tell that just by looking at the sheets?" I asked.

"Been doing this since I was your age, lass."

I sighed and nodded. "Okay. So what do you need from me."

"Well, first you can just stand up."

I paused then shrugged. "Water's getting cold anyways."

I stood up and held out my hand for a moment as she moved to approach.

"One moment."

Clamping my hands behind my back I stretched my back and was rewarded with a sound that reminded me of cracking granet as my vertebrae stretched and popped for the first time in months.

"Oh this is joy..." I groaned, earning a laugh from the woman.

"For me, it was being able to touch my toes once more," she observed with a chuckle. "Now stand still.

I nodded and stood still as the woman moved over to me. Carefully she moved her hand down my belly and gently pressed in.

"Any pain my dear?"

I paused. There as a thing if discomfort but no pain. "I'd say a three?"

She paused. "A three?"

"On a scale of one being right as rain, and a ten being 'oh merciful Stranger, take my life and spare me from my torment'... it's a three."

She laughed. " Aye. A three then."

"So what now?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"I need you to lie down. This calls for a closer examination."

My face fell. Oh. Joy.

"You washed your hands, right?"

"Scrubbed them raw with hot water, just as you requested..." She replied, seemingly a little annoyed.

I took a deep breath. "Good. Alright just give me a moment..."

It was with a grimace that I pulled on my robe, feeling violated in ways that just a day ago literally were not possible.

I get dumped into a new world, in a new body, as a new gender... and my first brave step into this new existence? A trip to the fucking gynecologist.

"So how's it looking down there?" I muttered with a blush.

The woman sighed. "May I be honest, m'lady?"

I frowned. "Would I have had them bring you here if I didn't?"

"Today I've seen a miracle."

I blinked. "A miracle?"

She nodded. "Aye, child. When I examined you I but hints of injury and sickness long past..." She took a deep breath, "What almost killed you yesterday today is showing a perfect recovery," she looked up. "Flawless recovery. What your friend described, what those sheets told, I was afraid that you'd have been rendered barren at the best..."

"So I'm not sterile," I replied. "I can still have children?"

I'll admit it. The idea of having more children, this time actually having to sit through it, terrified me but in all frankness it was a reality I could not escape. To really mean half a damn in this world, I needed a good husband and my lined up husband was probably the one man whom I could direct in the ways needed.

Grab a hold of Robert Baratheon's cock the right way and you could probably pilot him about like it was a Joystick. But to do so, to ensure that the fucking world didn't end, I'd need to bare him an heir. And brave the joys of medieval childbirth. Again.

Ode to fucking joy.

"I cannot know for sure," she admitted, "But today I saw the gods mercy shown to me, and if the Mother would heal you of such a terrible malady, and restore your vigor, but not leave you with her blessing."

I nodded. It seemed whatever placed me here was watching out for their investment I guess.

Well... that or the power of two souls or whatever being squished into one body had enough magical juju healing power to no-sell whatever it was Lyanna was dying of.

"Any other advice?"

"You're still tender my dear," she replied, "And while I said you were showing a perfect recovery, I never said you were fully healed and you've yet to recover from the birth..."

I groaned. "Okay. Lets make this clear. How long before I can fuck. How long before it'll be safe for me to try for another child?"

She blinked at the frankness of my response. "Six months," she replied, "And a year at the soonest."

Om nom nom nom nom...

Delicious. Fucking delicious.

The wet nurse they'd found for little Jon... or Orys if I decided to go that way... was a pretty decent cook. Somehow she managed to cook up a wonderfully hearty and delicious stew from the crap that was lying about in the tower.

Barley grain, chunks of meat, hearty root vegetables, and in a broth so thick it was almost a gravy. After half a year of suffering through the dubious campfire cooking of three high born nitwits even this simple fair was a feast. Add in some well hammered hard tack subbing in for crackers and it was a meal I doubt even Robert would pass on.

Not that Robert would ever pass on a meal.

I was sitting in the open door if the tower, my legs stretched outside for the first time in months. If it wasn't so desolate, so tenuous an environ I'd probably be skipping and running and enjoying the intense sensation of freedom that came with not being locked up like a low rent rendition of Rapunzel.

Good fucking GOD I could appreciate Tangled now in a way that once was impossible. Too bad I'd never see it again. I'd fucking identify! We'd be like Sis-Bro-Whatevers!

How did that song go again?

Fuck... Can't remember.

To hell with it... I'll do the one from Frozen.

" _The snow glows white on the mountain tonight... not a footprint to be seen... a kingdom of isolation and it looks like I'm the queen... The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside... I couldn't keep it in now matter how hard I..."_

"Lya, we need to talk..."

Fuck you, Ned. I was singin' ma Disney princess song.


	3. A Great Disservice

For a long moment after his announcement I looked up to him in equal parts annoyed and fatigue. I knew that serious look on his face. It was his 'I'm about to do something utterly mind numbingly ragingly fucking moronic because it's in some way honorable and I have a weaker self-preservation instinct than a clinically depressed lemming' face.

As Lyanna I was used to seeing it. Normally right before he said something that made her want to hit him over the head with something heavy.

Peachy. Fucking. Keen.

"Spit it out, Eddard," I grumbled taking one last mouthful of stew. I had the strong feeling that he was about to spoil my appetite, the bastard.

"I'm sorry Lya but I simply cannot just leave the bodies of the Kingsguard to rot," he said calmly.

I frowned. Well, there was one dream dashed against the rocks of reality. "Don't tell me you're going to have us drag their fetid corpses across half of the realm..."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who insisted we bring the bones of the fallen home, and I understand your reasoning, but it would be dishonorable to leave them here. They fought well."

"Gods damn it Ned! I don't care how well they fucking fought" I roared, my face flushed with the fury of two lifetimes. "If you don't want to leave them for the fucking jackals, fine. Bundle them up and send message off and give those boy buggering loyalist faggots cause to stop fucking their squires for a moment and swing on by to pick up their trash!"

"Lyanna!" Ned exclaimed, "I understand that they did you a great disservice, but they died honoring their oaths to their king! "

In that moment I really felt that I reached an almost apotheosis like understanding of House Baratheon family words.

Ours Is The Fury.

Because in that moment the fires of my rage vanished and I became hate. It welled up from my belly like a boiling ichor of spite that permeated every fiber of my being.

I'd been angry before. I'd even reached that strange state of serene rage before. But this was different. It was almost like an almost enlightenment like state of oneness with my spite, a nirvana of hatred that brought with it a most terrible clarity.

"A... great... disservice." I said, may face twisting in a sweet smile, while my eyes burned with chilling madness. "A great disservice you say..."

I knew he was trying to be the honorable man. I knew he was trying to downplay it for the sake of being polite. But some events could never be downplayed. Must never be downplayed. For doing so makes a mockery of their terribleness. This was one of those deeds. Oh, it wasn't the worst, but it was still on the list, and to have my own brother make light of it even unintentionally was unforgivable.

Now, Eddard Stark was many things, a fool most certainly, but he was no idiot. He could see my face and he reached. "Lya, I know I may have misspoke, but..."

"My name is Lyanna," I replied with the icey character of a long Northern winter.

He flinched.

"Now I you will excuse me Lord Eddard," I replied, "I find that I am no longer hungry and desire my solitude. Good day, my lord..."

I thrust my bowl into him, probably spilling the the remaining contents across his tunic, but I was in no mood to care.

"Lyanna, I..."

"I said good day, my lord!"

With the mechanical step of an automaton I forced my way back up the steps of the tower and into the room which had been Lyanna's cell. My cell. These past months.

I vaguely remember Howland and the servants parting to give me passage, but by this point I was barely in my own head as much as aware of my surroundings.

With a mighty kick I slammed the door behind me and then dropped to my knees as the tears started to flow freely despite my best effort.

Damn him!

Damn them all!

Damn these memories!

Damn these emotions!

Damn these thoughts!

Damn this body!

Damn these hormones!

I'll never see any of it again!

Not my family!

Not my friends!

Not my world!

Nothing!

I am trapped!

I not even me any more anymore!

I'm dead!

But I'm not!

Why couldn't I have stayed dead!

Why couldn't I just died me!

Why did I have to suffer through all of this!

Why?

Why?!

WHY?!

I screamed.

Someone is petting me.

Someone was petting my fucking head.

Those were the first coherent things to come to mind as I awoke. Probably also the first coherent things to come to mind since the dawn of my little psychotic breakdown.

For a moment I froze. What the fuck was going on?!

Then I relaxed as whatever legacy reactions from Lyanna were left started to filter through.

Her father used to do this when she was upset and it never failed to relax her. It seemed that this, like many things, had carried over.

"Lya," Ned slowly said as he continued to pet.

I didn't reply but I didn't stop him.

"I must be honest with you, sister," he said after a long pause. "I hate them as well. I hate them for what they've done to you."

"When I saw you... I can't describe the sorrow I felt. You were broken. You were dying. And as I felt the life slip away from you, I felt part of myself die with you..." He choked back a sob, "I don't know how you still live, Lya, and I don't care. One moment you lay dead. The next... you were alive and you were cursing. It was like the Gods have given you back to us."

He took a deep breath. "And when you woke up you were different. You were healthy, no fever. No sickness. You were you again. It was as if the gods had made you whole again..." He paused, "But I didn't understand... maybe couldn't understand the sorrow you still felt."

His hand tensed on my shoulder. "I didn't see the pain beneath your rage. I couldn't understand. And because of that of that I hurt you. But I think I'm beginning to see now..."

Part of me. That part of Lyanna that was still alive wanted to respond. But I was still angry. Really, really angry. And almost offended even though I knew he had no idea of the truth.

My family. Gone.

My world. Gone.

My life. Gone.

All because of some negligent idiot.

And now I'm trapped in this medieval hellhole, trapped in the body of a Jailbait MILF, and doomed to marry a drunken, whormongering frat boy who by all rights could throw me right back in the tower under the lock and key of the same band of polished turds who did it last time!

Ned, you have not a fraction of an iota of an idea the depths of my fucking loss.

He sighed as he felt me tense under his gentle grip. "Lya... I..."

He took a deep breath. "I will be completely honest with you sister. I loath to admit it, but there's a place in my heart... a part of me that would like nothing more than to leave them to the scavengers as you'd wish. But father is dead. Brandon is dead. I'm the Stark of Winterfell now... and I must hold myself to a higher standard. I have to be the better man."

Now it was my turn to sigh. He really was too noble for his own good.

"You honorable idiot," I muttered.

I turned over and looked at him. "Let me guess what comes next," I said in a terse, and completely unamused tone. "We head to Starfell. You dump off the bones of Dayne and the other Kingsguard for them to take custody of, because we both know I'll probably kick them down a cliff if I'm forced to smell their stench for another moment longer than absolutely necessary. And when we're there you plan on returning Dawn to them, because your head is far too up your ass to imagine keeping a bonafide sword of legend under right of conquest..."

He frowned. "I didn't come here for the sword. I came here for you."

"And what if I want it?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Seriously. Magical fucking greatsword. What isn't there to love?

He sighed in exasperation, but a smile came to his face none the less.

"Lya..."

"Don't 'Lya' me, Eddard Stark," I snapped, "I think I've bloody well earned it."

"Lya, Dawn is as tall as you are... If you tried to swing it, it would probably have you spinning like a top."

I crossed my arms. Magical Sword of Legend. Not giving up. "And what if I wanted to keep it for little Brandon?"

He blinked. "Brandon?"

"My son, Ned. Do please try and keep up..." I paused and winced as my mind trailed off to Robert.

I shuddered. "Or at least that's what I plan to name him if we don't instead claim he's your bastard and not mine."

Ned flushed. "Why would we do such a thing?"

My eyes narrowed. "Dragonspawn."

Ned winced as if he'd been struck. "How did you..." He sighed. "I understand. You fear how Robert my react."

I nodded. "Aye. If we must I will claim my child died before the end of his first week. If we must we will find an unfortunate mother who lost her child and buy the corpse so that if they desire proof then we will have little bones to show them."

Her grimaced at the thought of it. I will admit the idea of buying a dead infant off some peasant woman was far from a pleasant idea, but sometimes you simply had to do what you had to do. And I would be sure to give an amount that was respectful.

"What? You afraid your pretty little Catfish will take offense?"" I snorted. "If it comes to it, tell her the truth and no other."

He frowned at the name. "Please, do not speak ill of my Lady Wife. She is a good woman."

"I don't speak ill, I speak honestly. I remember her from Harrenhal," I replied. "While you were drooling over Ashara Dayne..."

Ned winced slightly at this, I noticed in passing."

"...I felt it pertinent to look into the woman who Bran was going to marry. I was not impressed. I found her to be arrogant, vapid, and entitled. All in all the stereotypical spoiled Southron 'princess'."

"Lya!"

"It's true, Ned..." I replied arms crossed.

And it really was. The night before her unfortunate run in with the Douchebag Prince, Lyanna had spoken to the Catlyn. The apple doesn't fall from the tree, and she was very much like a more seasoned, more entitled, version of Sansa.

I could remember Lya's emotions clearly. A mixture of exasperation and pity, for she knew that the older girl's delusions would be shattered the moment she'd walk into find Brandon fucking one of the maids on their marriage bed. And if that didn't do it, the gaggle of bastards he'd leave in his wake would finish the job.

To be honest, it was probably one of the factors that lead up to her decision to go playing in the woods with The Motherfucker. She saw Robert, realized how much he was like her brother, and didn't want to be that woman... saving herself for her husband while he was off making the eight.

"...And I honestly fear that if we claim my son is your bastard, she'd drive him to the wall with her torments."

"She's a good woman," he replied, "She would do no such thing."

Yes she would. And I knew that for a fact. And honestly, it's why I'd never be able to like her. No matter what, in another world, she would have tormented Lyanna's son... My son... his entire childhood. So badly in fact he would throw his life away and take the Black.

And of course, it had been her bumbling and shit decisions that had lead House Stark right to the brink of extinction.

No. Check that. It's not that I'd never be able to like her. It's that I actually found myself hating the woman. And her sister. And her entire fucking line.

Her idiot sister whose insanity doomed the entire realm to war because she couldn't figure out a way to make being wed to the second most powerful man in the realm somehow tolerable.

Her asshole father, who only valued his kin as bartering tokens, and set the stage for the above by doing something that every maiden of the realm is warned to be a profoundly bad idea.

Her 'True Knight' of an uncle who when push came to shove, abandoned his oaths as readily as the three stooges down stairs by throwing the smallfolk of Riverrun upon the tender mercies of the Butcher of Casterly Rock.

Her brother was the best of the lot. A fact that Catlyn would actually berate him for. Though he was still a whore mongering twit. A Floppy Fish indeed.

No. I think I hated House Tully as well.

"Don't delude yourself Ned. You had the stars within your reach, and then were forced to settle for a cold fish," My eyes glittered with mirth as I looked back up to Eddard. I actually smirked slightly. "Maybe that's why you're so keen on going to Starfall. Get one last look at a _real_ woman before having to return home to the Ginger Kitty that Hoster sold you."

Slowly Ned learned in, a spark of fire in his eyes.

I smirked.

"Lya," he said slowly, "I'm still not letting you have Dawn."

My smirk turned into a smile "We'll see about that."


	4. The Great Escape

"Lya..."

I grumbled and rolled over.

While Lyanna was an early riser. I wasn't. I was the kind of person who was one step removed from the walking dead for the first hour after waking. It seems to have carried over.

While I'd apparently inherited an entire luggage set's worth of emotional baggage, I'd missed out on her ability to be up in a wink, bright eyed, and ready to grab the day by the balls.

How the fuck was that fair.

Slowly, with a groan I sat up and glanced over to Ned, feeling very bit like the walking dead.

He blinked wide eyed, and then and scrunched his nose while biting his lip.

"Huh?"

He smiled and coughed, a slight... sound... coming from his mouth. Was he fucking laughing at me?

"What. The. Fuck."

He coughed and moved his hand to the edge of his mouth, stick fighting back laughter.

I did the same and... yeah. I had fucking hair in my mouth. And apparently I'd been drooling in my sleep. And you know what? I'd probably bet good money that I had some truly epic bedhead going.

Oh glory be.

"Yeah, yeah, yuck it up, smartass. Stop gawking and hand me a brush," I grumbled, By the gods, I'd kill someone for a nice cup of English breakfast tea. Seriously, I'd strangle a motherfucker for some tea.

Dutifully, and with much amusement on his face, he handed me the brush from my nightstand and I went to work.

Bastard.

"Did you have to wake me so early, Ned?" I grumbled as I started putting my long black locks under control, "So what do you want?"

"We are prepared to leave," he replied. "You need but get dressed and..."

Fuck this sleepy shit, I was on my feet and ready to go in an instant. "Why didn't you tell me earlier!"

He rolled his eyes. "I tried. Twice," he replied. "The first time you threw your pillow at me. The second you told me to 'go fuck myself with a chainsaw'. I don't know what that is, but it doesn't sound terribly pleasant."

I blinked. Well shit.

Spying a change of clothes at the edge of the bed, I began to shuck off my night dress without hesitation, only taking a moment to call out a fair warning.

"Turn around, Ned. I need to get dressed!" I exclaimed as I bolted behind my changing screen.I wanted to get the fuck out of this hellhole!

"Lyanna!" His exasperation was apparent as he shielded his eyes and turned about. "I should go."

"Eddard, every moment I spend in this fetid shithole further ablates the tattered, broken, pathetic remnants of what was once my sanity. I fear that if I spend even a moment longer than I must in this fucking tower, I will go inextricably mad,"

Now completely nude, I took a moment to look at the dress waiting for me in earnest and repressed the urge to groan. It was a pretty dress. Form fitting and graceful, well made and well wearing. The kind Lyanna had worn most of her life when frolicking through the countryside like a bloody fawn. Practical, beautiful, and near impossible to put on without a second set of hands.

Really, Ned?

"Besides, I need someone to help me lace up this dress and by the virtue of your presence, you just volunteered," I replied as I pulled on my shift and mentally noted that at some point I'd need to invent the bra.

"I understand," He replied, "Which is why I make sure that everything was prepared. As soon as you're..." He coughed, "proper and we've eaten, we can leave."

"We'll eat on the road," I replied tersely

"I had a feeling you'd say that," he replied calmly.

I smiled. "Good. Now help me with this dress."

He blinked. "What do I do?"

"The lances along my back. Just pull the strings and tie a bow when I tell you to."

He nodded. "Very well."

He did so quickly and surprisingly efficiently. I'd been afraid that he'd have done it too tightly and cut off my air flow, but he was surprisingly gentle. Though considering the number of laces in the average suit of plate, he probably was just used to it.

"Very good. Now tie."

He nodded and did so. Without hesitation, I then turned my attention to the lances that lie under my arms. While it would take a little fiddling I could handle these myself.

"Good job, Ned," I remarked with a mirthful smile. "If the whole 'Lord Paramount' thing doesn't work out, I'm sure you'd be able to find swift work as a Lady in Waiting."

He rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. Behold the almighty power of terrible jokes!

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," he replied drolly.

"Good," I grinned, "Because there's something else I want to do before we leave. Though you might think it a little bit... crazy."

"Yes, Lya," he asked. I could tell that he was almost dreading what I'd ask next. After all, I'd expressed some relatively outrageous desires. Such as desecrating the bodies of the Kingsguard and claiming Dawn as my own.

Which I'd hadn't given up on, mind you.

"I want to torch this place," I replied with a vicious smile. "I hate it. I hate it and I want to burn it to the fucking ground."

He remained quiet for a moment and then nodded baring just a hint of a smile. "Aye, Lya. That's a more than reasonable request."

Score.

There are no words to describe how liberating it was to be away from that _fucking_ tower.

Or rather the pillar of flame in the distance that was once a tower. There'd been a goodly amount of firewood inside it and while the walls were stone, most of the internals were wood. All you needed was a fire able to get the seasoned timbers alight and it would all come crashing down.

A lit torch thrown onto my bed was more than enough to get it going.

For the fourth time in as many minutes I looked back and smiled as I walked along beside my horse, patting the animal on the side as I lead it be the reigns.

When I said I wanted to walk for a time, the others had been confused. Lyanna had been quite the rider, to the point she was said to be half horse. She loved riding and I sure as shit felt the desire to jump onto the animal's back and go flying off into the sunset, but the fact was I needed to walk.

Not the entire way, no, but I'd... she'd... we'd. Ugh. Anyways, this body had been sealed in that tower for the better part of a year. Early on they'd permitted Lyanna to go for walkies, but had ceased to do so after the third escape attempted.

Almost got away that time too. Took the fuckers three days to track me down that time. It was the only time the Motherfucker had actually been angry enough to beat me. After that he'd forbade me from leaving the tower.

Probably one of the reasons why Lyanna had died in childbirth. Her body was weakened from the lack of exercise.

In fact, I was already starting to feel it. We were keeping up a good pace and these mountains were rather steep. Walking down the incline had been easy, but now it was starting to pick up and I was feeling the burn. I'd need to mount up before I got too sweaty. I only had so many traveling outfits and for us the closest washer-woman was in Starfall.

It took more effort than I'd have liked to mount the chestnut riding horse that had once belonged to Martyn Cassel. Taking a moment to adjust my sword I trotted up to the front of the pack, distancing myself from the lingering stench of the corpses being carried behind us.

I had to smile at that. Yes. My sword.

'Father' had never let Lyanna carry a sword when she traveled, but he was no longer the Lord of Winterfell. Ned was, and there seemed to be very little he could deny me at this point. Except for Dawn. Which would be mine. I had plans for that fucking blade and him him handing it over with a smile like a dumb, lovestruck puppy was not on the list.

He'd naturally been uncomfortable with me claiming a blade from the belongings of his companions. Those of the dead kingsguard he'd been far less protective of. While he was against mutilating the bodies, and he still wouldn't let me have the epic magical item, their conventional arms and armor were another issue entirely. From the looks of things, their equipment would be funding the first leg of our trip.

Having been given my pick of the blades, I'd decided to go with Hightower's arming sword. Not only was it the finest of my options, but there was a practical reason as well. He was the tallest of the three. This might seem to be something of an oxymoron. I was easily shorter than most men. For a slim girl like me to use a big man's sword might seem foolish, but with the size of the hilt, necessitated by his monstrously large hands, made it practically a bastard sword.

Hands.

She shuddered for a moment.

Out of all of them, he was by far the one she hated most. When Dayne looked at her, he could see the self-loathing in his eyes. When Whent looked at her, she could see pity and doubt. When he looked at her, she saw only a singular dedication to his duty. As if whatever had once been a man inside him had died long ago, replaced by a well polished automaton.

In fact, if it had not been for him, just perhaps she could have awoken whatever withered fragments of honor remained in one of those sons of bitches. But he was steadfast and quick to remind them that it was their place to 'defend their king, not to judge him'.

To make matters worse, the others had been complicit in her hell, but he'd been a participant. When he'd arrived, the Motherfucker had yet to impregnate her. At first methods of getting into her skirts had mostly been shame, lies, and manipulation.

But when word came of her father and brother, he'd lost his ability to manipulate her into having sex. She rebuked him time and time again. Violently.

A feral smile came to my face. He was reluctant to use force, but I wasn't. I kicked. I screamed. I bit. I clawed. I made it almost impossible for him to take me. So he ordered Hightower to restrain me.

And of course, the Knight Commander of the Kingsguard, the shining beacon of chivalry and knightly virtue... sworn to courage and justice, to protect woman and defend the innocent, with his life and honor... held me down without a moment's doubt or hesitation while his prince raped a child into me.

There were only three people in this world that Lyanna had hated completely and without reservation.

The Mad King.

The Motherfucker.

And Gerold Fucking Hightower.

Now, my new list was quite a bit longer, as the events to come, and had given me quite the number of targets. The War of the Five Kings had added several to her lists, both relative and absolute. First and second on that list respectively were Tywin Lannister and Walder Frey.

Simply put, they needed to die. Tywin was an abomination of a man who'd burn the world for the sake of his ego. And Walder was simply a wretched, baleful creature who had lived several decades past his worth... not that he'd ever had a lick of value as a human being.

Tywin, was sadly, unassailable. Too powerful, too well defended. A direct attack was for all practical purposes impossible. But she could slowly ablate his influence over time. Nothing too grand, as the man was both as petty and baneful as his cunt daughter while actually managing to be dangerously competent.

Walder on the other hand was an old man who was long past due. I would be honestly surprised if there was a single human being on this... planet... who actually valued his life. The only reason he probably hadn't been smothered with a pillow was because he'd managed to browbeat and abuse everyone around him into submission. He would be unmissed and his death would be unlamented.

Also on that list were Balon Greyjoy and Ramsay Snow. Balon would be easy to dispose of. His rebellion was inevitable. His ego would permit nothing less. As much as it made her skin crawl to think it, all she'd have to do was extract a promise out of Robert to end him rather than allowing him to bend at the knee.

Snow was almost as simple. As much as it disgusted her to plan the death of a child, the fact was that there was something seriously wrong with him. He was sick, and his sickness was the kind that would spread like a plague. Thankfully, disposing of him would be easy. He was undefended and until he killed Roose's trueborn son, only accounted for in passing. A small bag of coin and a swift dagger in the night would end his threat quick and clean.

Then of course there was Gregor Clegane. That rapist monster offended her on a visceral level. He needed to die, not just because he shouldn't be permitted to exist but because he was a threat to the realm. As long as he lived, Dorne would never be willing to accept Baratheon rule. One horrific man's life for the good of the realm. It wasn't complex math.

Thankfully, he would also be somewhat easy to deal with. Plant the idea in Robert's head and maybe suggest using Lorch as a delivery man once the Mountain had lost his. It wouldn't completely placate the Dornish, but it would do much to mend the wound before it had a decade to fester and boil.

Littlefinger, ironically, wasn't on the list. For as much as I hated what Baelish would become and would do to House Stark, I also could see myself in him. He was a creature of other's creation, made bitter and driven half-mad by being on the ass end of a restrictive social structure which I too found utterly contemptible.

He could have Gulltown as far as I was concerned. Own the brothels he wanted. Get a cut of every pie, with rights to every coin he could steal from Jon Arryn's coffers. As long as he didn't become a danger to the realm, I couldn't give a fuck. He just couldn't be permitted to become Master of Coin...

"A penny for your thoughts, my lady?"

I was drawn from my thoughts of murder and enemies by the calm, quiet voice of Howland Reed.

Short and lean, the Crannogman was fast as a whip and far tougher than he looked. His face was thin, but attractive with a rare but expressive smile. Lyanna had spent long hours during her captivity wondering if her biggest mistake had been trying to lose her maidenhead to the prince, and not her father's cute and reliable bannerman.

Though honestly, I had the feeling that The Motherfucker would have taken her regardless. But at least then I could look back at her first time and not be filled with disgust and self-recrimination.

"Just considering the future, Howland," I replied with a smile.

"Must be a dark future to earn such a grim cast," he observed. "What troubles you?"

I paused and considered a manner in which to answer that didn't show my hand.

"When I was taken I was to be Lady of Storm's End," I said after a moment's thought, "Now I'm to be the Queen of Westeros. The more I consider the situation the more threats I notice. The more enemies I see. The situation is complicated and profoundly dangerous and I'm not ready."

"You will be," he replied, "You're a brave woman. Braver than most men."

I chuckled. Well, at least tried to. Came out more a girlish giggle. "Why Lord Reed I'd almost think you were flirting with me."

He flushed. "I'm a wedded man and if the gods are indeed just, a father by now."

"Truly?" I asked. I knew he'd have two kids by the beginning of the book, but Lyanna hadn't.

He nodded. "She was the daughter of one of my father's bannermen. We were wed shortly after you were taken."

I nodded. "I hope the marriage is a happy one."

He smiled. "Jyana is a good woman. I believe that happiness will come in time."

I sighed. "I'd like to say the same about Robert and myself, but before I can do that I need to make sure he doesn't keep tripping and fall into into strange prostitutes."

"If anyone can do it, it is you my lady."

"Thank you, Reed," I grinned, "So, son or daughter?"

"I don't know, but I'm hoping for son," he admitted.

"And is there something wrong with a daughter?" I asked.

He smiled and shook his head. "Of course not, but it is the nature of men to wish for sons."

"And if I told you she bore you a daughter?" I asked.

"Then I'd raise her to be a beautiful and courageous as my Lady Stark, of course."

I laughed. "Well, if you do indeed have a daughter we will have to introduce her to my son. Perhaps when they come of age, if they should find one another to their liking then we can betroth them and I shall call you my brother."

I knew Meera would grow up to be an awesome girl. Had she and Lyanna been of the same generation, they would have been thick as thieves. Exactly the kind of girl mama wanted for her little Bran.

He laughed, "I would like that, but what lordship would your boy have to offer my daughter?" He asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"I shall ask Ned to grant him Moat Cailin," I replied with a smile. "Together they will rebuild it and found a town. Perhaps even a great city. A gateway to the north, a place where the Crannogmen and First Men live as brothers. Where it is our peoples who laugh at the Andels, and where our merchants squeeze arrogant southrons for every red penny."

He laughed. "If you can get Ned to give him the castle, then we'll discuss it. But I still think she bore me a son."

I raised an eyebrow. "Wager then?"

He smiled. "If I have son, you must wear an item bearing my house colors somewhere on your person during your coronation as queen."

I snorted, "I'd do that anyways to honor you as one of my surviving saviors."

"So what would you ask, my lady?"

"Once I'm queen... one day Robert and I will visit you. We will stay at your floating castle, and you will teach us to hunt Lizard Lions."

"I would have done that anyways as well. You'd need but ask."

I smiled. "Then it's not much of a bet is it?"

"I guess not," he replied, "But I still say she bore me a son."

"Then prepare yourself for disappointment, Holly."

And together we laughed.


	5. The Sword of Dawn

"Gimme the sword."

"No."

"The sword, give it to me."

"No."

"Sword please."

"No."

"Hand over the sword."

"I can has Sword?"

Ned facepalmed and sighed, turning to me with a look of complete exasperation.

"Oh come now, Lyanna, that's not even proper Westron."

I grinned much in the manner of a shark staring down an especially plump seal.

"For the last time, Lyanna," He replied holding back a tide of frustration, "I am not letting you have Dawn! It is the rightful property of House Dayne! And yes, I know that Arthur Dayne was party to an unforgivable crime. A crime against you, against our house, and against all that is proper, noble, and just in the realm... but despite it, his family has a long tradition of honor and justice. It would be dishonorable to spit in the face of that history."

He took a deep breath. "It would also be folly to further antagonize the Dornish. They're already furiously angry, and quite rightfully so, at the appling death of princess Elia and her children. We're also going to be their guests as Starfall is the best location to find a ship, and I do not want to antagonize them into doing something untoward. Which at best may leave us as hostages, and at worst will leave Benjen as the sole surviving member of our line. Now do you understand, sister?"

I paused for a moment and smiled. "Thank you for giving me your reasoning, Ned. Now if you'd be so kind as to allow me the same courtesy? For me to tell you why I want Dawn?"

He took a deep breath. "I assumed it was because you wanted it for yourself, or for your son. But if it will end this nonsense, then please do. But when I say no, do obey me this time."

I nodded. Fair enough. "Well, Ned, like they say... to assume makes an ass out of you and me."

He paused and blinked. "That makes no sense."

I sighed. "In some areas ass is a colloquialism of Arse. Ass You Me. Get it?"

He groaned. "Please explain again without the wretched pun."

I grinned. "I don't want the sword for myself. Or for even Brandon. Though I will say I'm terribly tempted. I don't even want it to sell to the Lannisters..."

Ned's face twisted into an almost comical grimace at that. It was like he'd gotten sudden and severe gas pain at just the thought of it.

"Gods be praised..." He murmured. The sarcasm in his tone was probably as sharp as Dawn itself.

"What I want to do is use it as leverage," I replied with a smirk. "Yes, handing it over with a dumb puppy smile would be the oh so honorable thing," I said with a vicious smile, "But the fact is... we're Starks, Ned, we're not Arryns. Our house words are 'Winter is Coming'. Our house words are not 'As High as Honor'. Our house hasn't ruled the North for ten millennia by being _nice_. We aren't the one remaining bastion of First Man culture and identity on the entire continent worth a damn for no reason."

"Rickard Stark brought the Neck to heel and took the Marsh King's daughter as a war bride. Harlon Stark starved the Boltons in the Dreadfort for two _years_. Theon the Hungry Wolf is the reason there aren't any bloody _Andels_ in _Andelos_."

"We are the line of the Kings of Winter. And winter, is a primal force. It's not something you can stop. It's not something you can reason with. It's something you can but prepare for that brings nought but suffering to the foolish and death to the unwary. It is cold, harsh, but it is never cruel. I think House Dayne, and through them, Dorne as a whole need to learn that when faced with the full fury of Winter, men can only bow to the inevitable."

He frowned. "So you'd use it to extort them."

I smiled. "Extortion is such a strong word, my dear brother. I'd say more... remind them that with all things come a price."

He sighed in exasperation. "And what is it that you want from them?"

My smile grew. "You'll just have to trust me."

I had to admit, that even in the distance Starfall was an impressive sight. The towers and walls were of polished white stone that shined like marble. Pointy roofs that glittered like gold. It had a real 'Magic Kingdom' vibe going, right down too gorgeous for this world the Disney Princess.

One whom, if all things were permitted to happen without interrupt, would also be dying an equally Disney death very soon.

Now, as much as I hated to say it, saving her life wasn't on the top of my to-do list, as she didn't technically need to be alive to do what I had planned for her. In fact it might actually be easier if she was dead. However, that would be monstrous. I wasn't selfish enough to be willing to callously use and then discard an innocent for my own agendas. If I was I'd be little better than The Motherfucker. If I could enact my plans and keep her sucking air, then that would be something of a double win in my book.

Plus despite my body, I still had the overactive sex drive of a healthy, and mostly heterosexual, male. The idea of a woman thought by many to be the most beautiful on the continent killing herself was an unforgiavble offense to my labido.

Seriously. At times I wondered if the only way I'd be able to survive the indignity of Roberts addiction to wine and wenches was... well... to drowned my sorrows in wine and wenches.

Perhaps we could go whoremongering as a couple. Call it a bonding experience.

I had to laugh, drawing a look from my brother.

I shrunk down a bit and sighed.

I was nervous, that I would freely admit. I simply could not afford to fuck this up.

As we neared we saw movement in the distance. A trio of men on horseback dressed in lilac bearing the sword and shooting star of House Dayne.

Household knights on patrol.

I took a deep breath. Okay. Here we go.

"Halt and identify yourselves," the first of the knights called out as he approached. He did not draw his weapon, but he had his hand near his sword in case he was forced to draw in self-defense.

Ned moved forward. "I am Lord Eddard Stark. In my company are my sister Lyanna Stark of Winterfell and Howland Reed of Greywater Watch. We come seeking "

Wylla the wet nurse, of course, was not worth mentioning.

At the mention of _my_ name however the knight's eyes widened ever so slightly. He turned to look at me. They widened even more once they saw the object I carried.

It had taken several days, countless hours of pleading, cajoling, and otherwise begging along almost as many promises that I wasn't about to get us all killed or worse, dishonored, but he'd finally relented.

He finally gave me the Sword of Dawn.

If this were a less serious situation I'd have probably glared at the man. I could help but find myself equal parts discomforted and disgusted by the presence of the southern knights. You could almost smell the hypocrisy on the wind.

Or was that the pile of corpses we were dragging along with us?

So hard to tell the two apart.

Anyways, I could not afford to react. I had to keep my cool no matter what.

Literally.

I simply couldn't afford to be the happy go lucky She Wolf that Lyanna was before the kidnapping, or the bitter, caustic individual forever on the brink of an emotional breakdown I was now. I had to be every bit the Stark. As cold, serene, and as absolute as winter itself.

It pleased me when he turned away with a blink after meeting my eyes, both because it showed my icy exterior was working, and because I no longer had to fucking look at him.

"What are your intentions, my lord?" He asked with an unsteady voice.

"My intentions are to visit Starfall," Ned replied, "I must speak with Lord Andrew Dayne on the matter of several important issues."

His eyes flashed back to the greatsword I carried, and then to his men.

"What are you waiting for?" He asked the most junior of his companions, a young knight who was barely seven and ten if that. "Go! And tell Lord Dayne that we return with guests!"

The young knight nodded as the two remaining knights moved to join us.

"If my lord will allow it, we will escort you the rest of the way," he offered with a hint of tension in his voice.

I mentally translated that to 'We're not letting you northern scum out of our sight until you've handed over that sword'. It was probably the more accurate of the two.

"Your offer is appreciated, ser knight." Ned replied in a cool tone. "But unnecessary." One that probably translated to 'If we can kill the Sword of Morning, do not fool yourself into thinking you're anything even resembling a threat.'

Ah, the subtle dominance displays of the feudal warrior class. Threats of violence wrapped in honeyed words.

It was like watching tomcats pissing at each other.

The air was still for a moment as the knight and Eddard stared each other down without actual staring. Then the knight bowed his head in submission.

"Of course, Lord Stark. We shall ride ahead to make sure your progress is uninterrupted."

And with that, they started down the road.

And not a moment too soon either. The stench was killing me.

It took every ounce of will I possessed not to start hyperventilating at the sight of Andrew Dayne.

Tall, strong, and pale of hair he was very much the image of his brother. There were differences however. His hair had a hint of yellow rather than his brother's white, and his eyes were more intense. He bore more signs of aging as well, with laugh laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.

I knew I was looking intently at him, maybe even to a degree that would garner attention, but I didn't care. I had to force myself to see that he was not his is not his brother. He was not Ser Arthur Dayne.

Arthur Dayne was dead. Eddard killed him.

He was not Arthur Dayne. Arthur Dayne was dead.

I let out a low breath, but at the same time tensed when I saw his attention turn to me. Or rather the sword in my arms.

"My brother is dead," Andrew stated calmly, from atop his great white stallion.

"Aye," Eddard replied. "He, along with Oswell Whent and Gerold Hightower were guarding my sister. They refused to surrender. They..."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. Probably judging how flowery he could describe their demise without offending me. Personally I would have said, or at least wanted to say, that they dropped like the turds they were, but that would be less than diplomatic.

"They fought to the last. I come to return the body of your brother, remand those of the fallen Kingsguard to your care" he replied, "And ask for your aid in preparing the bones of my fallen comrades for transport."

His eyes flicked back to Dawn for a moment. There was a slight spike of tension, but he kept his cool demeanor. "Of course."

He nodded to a servant who stepped forward. In her arms she carried a tray. On it were several small loaves of fresh bread and small saucers of salt.

"I welcome you to Starfell."

I permitted myself to relaxed a bit as I tore off a piece of the soft, white bread and dipped it in the salt. I was now under the protection of the guest right, which believe me, was something of a relief.

Now, that might seem a bit naive, considering how many flagrant violations were to be found in Westerosi history, but the simple fact is those were the exception not the rule. If I was the Twins, Sunspear, or Casterly Rock I might be a bit more paranoid.

Plus, for what it was worth, House Dayne was honorable. Or at least they tried to be, so as long as I did nothing to threaten them, they'd do nothing in turn.

The bread was absolutely delicious and I virtually inhaled the small loaf. While Wylla's hearty peasant cooking was leagues better than the veritable prison slop that the Kingsguard had been feeding Lyanna during her captivity, it was still paled in comparison to even the humble efforts of even a simple castle baker.

Sparing the woman herself a glance, I had to say she probably agreed if the way she was snarfing down her bread was any indication.

Slowly, we rode into the courtyard of the castle, and as we did so, I saw him Andrew ride next to Ned, a veiled look of concern on his face as his eyes flicked back to Dawn.

"Lord Eddard," he said with great care. "I must ask why is your sister carrying the sword of Dawn."

He was nervous and rightfully so. As we were protected by Guest Right he simply couldn't demand that we give him the sword, and due to our unique position and rank, even if he was inclined to break it doing so would incur the wrath of not only the North, but of the newly crowned Baratheon king, whom would probably be inclined to tear Starfell down to the foundations and piss on every stone if they harmed even a single silky hair on my pretty little head.

"She requested that I turn the sword over to her as restitution for your brothers part in her kidnapping and the..." Eddard's jaw tightened, "Various indignities that followed. If you wish to see it returned, you must speak to Lyanna."

His eyes flicked to Wylla, or rather the swaddled babe in her arms, and face twisted into a pained grimace. I had to wonder though. Was that sympathy for my plight and the fucking torment I... Lyanna'd been put through, or was it a more selfish realization that this fucking sword wouldn't be coming back cheap?

"I understand," he said after a moment, "Though I will admit that I find it somewhat peculiar."

Part of me wanted to be offended, but I understood how the system worked. At least in Andel culture, rape wasn't seen as a crime against the woman, but against her father or husband due to the damage it did to her marriage value. First Man culture was much more ambiguous and the definition of rape depended highly on regional tradition. In Rhoynar culture, however, it was a clear cut case of a crime against her person.

As a Stony Dornish, the Daynes tended to lean more towards the Andel side of the tracks then the Rhoynar, but at the end of the day, they were still Dornish. His surprise was probably less at the fact he'd be talking with me, and more that someone from north of the Red Mountains would actually consider treating a female as something other than a self-propelled womb.

I made a note to one day introduce him to Maege Mormont.

Near the entrance of the keep proper I saw her. Shapely, exotic, and gorgeous beyond reason. Ashara Dayne, the Disney Princess of Disneyland. Ned's face softened at the sight of her, but I could see thinly veiled pain and longing behind his icy exterior.

Shit, he had it bad.

I couldn't blame him. I could feel parts of my body reacting that were entirely new to me. Reactions which I could honestly have done without.

Was it getting warm all of a sudden?

Yeesh.

Anyways, she also reacted at the sight of Ned. Joy, flavored Bittersweet.

I couldn't help but wince. No good would come of this. In fact, I knew exactly what would come of this...

"It seems that my sister wishes to speak to you, Lord Eddard," Andrew smiled wistfully, "Go. Do so, and I shall speak to yours in turn."

Ned nodded. "Thank you, Lord Dayne."

Shit. This was moving a bit faster than I expected.

"My lady," Lord Andrew said after a moment of thought, "If I may show you to my solar, I would like to discuss your custody of the Sword of Dawn."

I nodded. "Of course. But I need to speak with Lord Reed and servant for a moment."

"Of course, Lady Lyanna."

Slowing my horse for a moment I moved next Howland and Wylla. As she didn't know how to ride, she was sharing a mount with Howland for the moment.

"I need both of you to listen to me very carefully," I said with a calm, cool tone, low enough to not be heard by anyone else.

Wylla tensed slightly, as she was still uncomfortable around the nobility. But Howland nodded. "Yes, my lady?" He asked, probably for the both of them.

"Wylla. You are to see that my son is tended to by the household maids and then return to Howland as quickly as possible. There can be no delay. Do you understand?"

"Ye-yes m'lady."

"Good," I turned my gaze to Howland. "I have a feeling that my brother is about to do something very stupid. With the best of intentions, but still stupid..."

"As long as you do not ask me to betray my lord's trust, I am yours to command."

"Good. I want you to shadow lady Ashara and make sure she doesn't do anything reckless... like say... jump off a tower."

He blinked in confusion and understandably so as it was a strangely specific request. "M'lady?"

"Trust me..." My eyes turned to my wet nurse, "As for you... if you see her run off looking upset or heartbroken, inform me immediately. Do you understand."

She nodded then froze. "But what if they don't allow me to..."

"Do what I tell you," I replied, "I'll handle the rest. Understand?""

She nodded meeky and then I looked to Howland who nodded as well.

Taking a deep breath, I moved to flank Lord Andrew. "I'm sorry about the momentary delay, my lord. So, to your solar then?"

Lord Dayne's solar was both attractive and practical. The roof was high and grand. At one end was a great desk, with a large plush chair. Several more chairs sat in front of it as if it were the office of some great medieval CEO. Which made sense as even lords had to do paperwork.

In the center of the room say a ring of plush couches with a small table in the center. To one side of them, a moderately sized bookshelf. In my old world, it was not a very impressive sight. Especially not for someone who used to be a book seller, but in this one each of those illuminated tomes represented hundreds of hours of labor and effort.

I mentally noted placing the printing press at the top of my to-do list once I was more settled.

Across from it a large fireplace, that made the Lyanna part of me wince a bit. In the region of the North under the direct control of Winterfell, the colloquial dialect of Westron used by most of the region's Smallfolk had twelve words to describe the concept of something being "drafty". The one she'd use to describe the ostentatious, and largely ornamental fireplace before her would commonly translated to "windswept hole in the wall". Try and use that thing in a Northern winter and they'd probably find your half-frozen corpse huddled up to it come spring, having died of exposure while futilely trying to wring some measure of warmth out of it.

Yeah. Speaking of which, adding the Franklin Stove to the to-do list.

Slowly, Andrew walked to the couches and motioned to the one across from him. "Please take a seat, my lady and the servants shall fetch refreshments."

I nodded and placed the Sword of Dawn onto the table before us. It's presence in such a clear position would give weight to our negotiations.

And then I sat down, and by the gods, I had to fight the urge to curl up like a cat and fall asleep there and then. After almost a year of that fucking tower and it's mediocre bed, the couches of Lord Andrews solar were like plopping my pert, perfectly formed arse onto a cloud sent down from the heavens.

Moments later a servant arrived and laid out a platter of chilled figs and wine.

My eyes went wide. To Lyanna, as a child of the North, fresh figs were something of a treasured delicacy. To me, as a child of the 20th century, fresh figs were a somewhat pricy but much beloved seasonal treat. This synergy between the two personalities locked in my head served to magnify the effect of our fondness for them. In otherwords.

I. Fucking. Love. Figs.

Now, layer this on top of the fact that Lyanna's diet had been rather bland for most of her captivity, as The Motherfucker had tried and failed to use promises of good food as one of his methods of getting her to cooperate and you had a perfect storm.

It was all I could do to not seize the entire platter and retreat under the table like Gollum with his Precious.

If he saw the conflict in my eyes, Lord Andrew was polite enough to say nothing. I had to hand it to the man. He did possess much of the innate nobility of his brother, but seemingly without the raging fucking hypocrisy.

To steady my nerves I reached for the goblet of wine poured by the serving girl.

I regretted it almost immediately.

We were in Dorne so it would make sense that our hosts would ply us with Dornish treats, and for wines the most iconic of those was the famed Dornish Red.

I was, to put it bluntly, not a wine person. I was more a beer guy. It was mostly due to never having acquired the taste for it to be honest. Lyanna on the other hand, as a daughter of high nobility, was something of a connoisseur. However she'd also spent a year locked in a tower so her palate was a little raw and not used to strong flavors.

The appeal of a good Dornish Red, and I knew well that this was a very good Dornish Red, was the strength of its flavor. Flavorful and acidic, it's bitter-sweet character was famed from the Summer Islands to the the Wall. And it was also way too much for me right now.

I winced as I swallowed my first sip.

Lord Andrew frowned. "Is it not to your liking?"

I took a deep breath.

"It is to my liking my lord, or it would have been if not for recent events."

I looked at him and frowned. "My lord. I know that under your congenial exterior you must be confused and not a small bit offended that I am using guest right as a shield while I ransom the Sword of Dawn, an item so fundamental to your family's identity that it literally forms the mark of your house."

He frowned somewhat and then looked at me with a slight frown. "It has occurred to me, my lady."

I nodded. "I believe there is a time for pleasantries, but a negotiating table is not one of them. We must be honest with ourselves and with each other. As such, if you would listen, I would like to explain to you why I would be so brazen."

While still schooling his features, he'd relaxed ever so slightly. In his eyes I could see annoyance and worry. Two emotions that I found to be utterly reasonable, all things considered. "Very well," he replied after a moment.

"I will begin with a rhetorical question. What is the first oath of every knight?"

He blinked. "My lady?"

"What is the duty with which you are charged? What is the oath you make before your seven gods when you take up the title of Ser?"

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women," he replied automatically.

"Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped me," I replied, schooling my features the best that I could, trying to fight down the skin crawling, nausea inducing sensation that came with speaking _his_ name. "He stole me from my kin. He locked me in an old border tower fifty leagues hence. And there, he imprisoned me. Conjoled me. Manipulated me. Starved me. Beat me."

Despite my best efforts I felt my emotions rising and my voice beginning to crack. No. Now now. Out of all the moments I need to be in control. I needed it now. I clenched my fists. Bit my lip and forced myself to continue. "And when that failed to get my cooperation. He raped me. Again. And again. And again. Forty-seven times, he violated me."

My voice cracked at that admission and I felt a tear run down my cheek as I gritted my teeth and soldiered through the torrent and pain and self-recrimination that came with it. I had to maintain my focus.

Lord Andrew's features were equally schooled, but I saw a fire in his eyes and a tightness in his neck that spoke of a hidden fury.

"For he was obsessed with prophecy," I continued, "He believed his son Aegon to be the Prince that Was Promised and that to complete the 'Three Heads of the Dragon' he'd need a Visenya. With his wife unable to bear another child, he decided to look elsewhere. So he turned to his beloved prophecy..."

"The Song of Ice and Fire," Andrew said, "Arthur said he spoke of it often."

I nodded trying to fight the tears. "He needed the ice to his fire. His obsession would allow nothing less."

"He was mad," Andrew spoke. "What he did to you, my lady, was a violation of every..." He took a deep breath. "What he did was a violation of all that is right and just in the world."

I nodded. "You're a fine man, Andrew Dayne. Better than most. And it relieves me to hear you say that, while saddening that I must tell you what I'm about to say."

He nodded.

"Throughout all of this, your brother, the Sword of Morning, sworn to the seven to protect to be brave. To be just. To defend the innocent and to protect woman, and charged by the traditions of your house to fulfill that oath at the cost of his very life..."

Andrew flinched. He probably saw this coming but it was still a kick in the gut.

"He was sworn as a Kingsguard to obey the king and his family," he replied after a moment.

"That is the easy answer," I replied, "But he was also the Sword of Morning. And if being the Sword of Morning was a station that allowed for easy answers, every hedge knight and man at arms would carry a star metal blade."

For a long moment Lord Dayne and I sat in silence. Without the outpour of words, the emotions that I'd been dredging up were permitted to run free. Despite the dry heat of Dornish midday, I felt as if I were standing in the midst of a Northern winter. A shiver ran down my spine as I hugged myself for comfort and warmth.

Buried in the loss and rage of losing my world, was a very real sensation of freedom that came with Lyanna's body. While I had been heavy-set and generally built like a refrigerator, she was young, thin, and in her prime. Just walking in her delicate frame was like hopping from cloud to cloud compared with the omnipresent weight of my previous form. But right now, after having aired my deepest torments to a stranger, I would have given my soul to be big and ponderous again, rather than a frail and delicate winters rose.

"I understand," Lord Dayne said, drawing my attention out of the pits of my emotions. He had a tired look to him, almost as if he'd aged 30 years in as many seconds. "My brother, in fulfilling one oath, betrayed another and was part to actions grievous harm to your person and that of your family. He..." he paused to take a breath, "He failed as the Sword of Morning."

"Not entirely," I said after a moment, "He was trapped. The m... prince used the bonds of friendship to manipulate him. Hightower bombarded him with reminders of his Kingsguard oath every time he showed a moment of doubt. He at least tried. That's more than most can say. It's why I'm here. It's why I didn't demand that my brother take his sword by right of conquest. It's why I didn't want his body left for the scavengers. I can never forgive him, but I cannot truly hate him. In the end, he was human, and we humans are flawed creatures. He may have failed to carry the burden with which he was charged, but in the end, most lesser men never would have even tried. In a way, he was just another victim of Targaryen madness. Yet another sacrifice to the Iron Throne."

Now, at this point I was lying through my teeth.

I still wished I could keep the damned sword.

I still wished I didn't have to drag his fetid corpse through the sunbaked dornish mountains during the height of summer.

And still loathed him for what he'd been party too, even if he'd been subjected to peer pressure.

Everything else I'd said was the complete truth. I was an advocate for truthfulness. It was easy to be trapped in a lie, but if people believe you to be honest, it became very easy to on occasion slip in the occasional small but useful fib.

Andrew spent a long while looking at the sword on the table. He was pensive. He was sad. He was angry. He ran the gamut of emotions before looking up and nodding.

"Thank you, Lady Lyanna." He took a deep breath, "Considering everything that has been done. I can't help but feel you've put my brother's spirit to rest with those words. House Dayne owes you a debt. Both as restitution for the crimes in which Arthur was party to as the Sword of Morning, and in thanks for your defense of his honor, despite those very crimes."

I stood up and lifted the sword from the table, offering it to him hilt first. "Then I have no more need of this."

He smiled and accepted the blade. "You have my thanks, my lady. House Dayne will never forget the honor of House Stark. Whatever you ask of me, be it in my power to fulfill, I shall see it done."

I took a deep breath. I hope he'd still be saying that in 30 seconds, because I was about to ask a doozie...

My train of thought was interrupted by a knock at the door. In that moment I felt my blood turn to ice.

"Yes?" Lord Dayne asked.

The door cracked and a man at arms spoke through the gap. "My lord, Lord Stark's maidservant is here. She says she has an important message for Lady Lyanna."

I was up in a flash and running for the door. "What happened?"

"It's Lady Ashara, just like you said..."

Andrew turned. "My sister?"

"Which way did she go!" I demanded as I threw open the door.

Wylla pointed. "That way, m'lady..."

I rounded on Lord Dayne. "What's the name of the tower in that direction."

He blinked. "Lady Lyanna, you will explain to me what is going. Now."

"No time!" I explained. "The name of the tower!"

"The Palestone Sword..."

My eyes widened with recognition.

"We have to go! Now!"

"Explain! Now!"

"If we don't stop her, your sister's about to take a flying leap!"

You know...

I had to admit, that once properly motivated, the man was pretty fast on his feet.


	6. The Stupidity of Men

Gods bless Howland Reed. All of them. From the Old Gods of the Forest, to the Seven gods of the Andals, to the Judeo-Christian god of Earth and more.

I was gulping in air with great breaths when I stumbled to the top of the tower, and with stars in my eyes I saw Andrew Dayne, who'd arrived moments before me seizing his sister, who was trapped kicking and screaming in the arms of Howland Reed.

"Let go of me you bloody northern bastard!" She howled with a rage and fury I knew all too well.

I'd been in that place.

"I can't do that m'lady," Howland replied as he held her flailing form about the waist, keeping her feet from touching ground as her brother took her by the shoulders and forced her to sit.

"Normally, were I to find a man man-handling my sister," Andrew began, "I'd be most cross indeed," he said to Howland, his tone saying those otherwise neutral words in a manner that would more accurately translate to 'Do shit to him that would make a Bolton blush', "I'd have your explanation as to how you came to be here."

Howland, catching the same rather obvious subtext nodded to the man, and seeing Ashara was no longer in danger leaned against the battlements to relax himself. "Lady Lyanna worried for your sister so she commanded me to shadow her to ensure that she did nothing foolhardy. I saw her move to jump, which..." He gave a tired laugh, "which struck me a pretty bloody foolhardy. Thus I did as my lady commanded."

Andrew simply took the Crannogman's black humor in stride and returned it with an exasperated 'Ha!'. Then he sighed and turned to his sister, his eyes filled with concern.

Seeing that she was defeated, Ashara had immediately taken to sulking and tears. Her lovely violet eyes shimmered with anger and sorrow as she sat and hugged her legs.

I couldn't help but wince. I'd been in that place as well. Hell, Lyanna had spent the last several months in that place. She'd tried to kill herself near the end. Several times actually, driven by sorrow, madness, and disgust. They'd kept me... her... damn it.

I centered my mind in a futile attempt to maintain objectivity.

Lyanna Stark had been alive long enough to give birth, but she had died as much of depression and heartbreak as she had childbirth. It had denied her the ability to soldier on and had taken the strength out of her during what was probably the most dangerous and trying ordeal a woman could face.

I saw a reflection of that in Ashara now.

"Sister," Andrew asked, "Why would you do such a thing."

"I am dishonored. I am betrayed," she replied as she looked up, "And I am a kinslayer."

"Nonsense!" Andrew replied, "Why would you say such a thing?"

"It was me," she said in a small, weak voice, "I was the one who told Ned where to find them. Arthur trusted me to keep the secret of his location..."

I frowned for a moment. Yes. I remember. I'd spent most of my last months eavesdropping on the Kingsguard. At least when I wasn't alternating between frantic, half-baked escape plans and screaming in sorrowful rage like a lunatic in an asylum. He'd been in contact with his sister.

"He trusted me, and I betrayed him. My brother's blood is on my hands as if I'd swung the sword myself," she sobbed and buried her face in her hands, "And now after doing such a deed he rejects me as well."

.I thought back to those memories and struggled to recall what Arthur Dayne had said of his sister. Yes.

He spoke of wolves and dishonor. Later still he lamented her loss. He had not said much, but it was easy enough to understand the truth of it. Especially when you had future rumors to draw from.

During those days he'd looked at me with anger rather than his normal flavor of self-loathing, as if I'd harmed him in some way.

"So your child was Neds," I replied looking up.

"You know?" Ashara locked eyes on me. "How could you know?"

"The Kingsguard talked," I replied, "I listened. There were precious few entertainments to be found sealed in that bloody tower."

I took a deep breath and pulled myself erect as the burning in my lungs fell to a dull roar. Ugh. Way too many fucking steps.

She recoiled in shock. "He told the others?"

"Aye," I replied, "Maybe not in so simple terms, but it was easy enough to read between the lines."

She looked at me with shock and disbelief so I continued.

"Your brother..." I almost sneered, "Was stuck in that tower with the other two king's guard for the better part of a year. The only way they could have been closer is if they were buggering each other... and knowing that faggot Whent, I wouldn't have been surprised either."

No, Oswell Whent wasn't really gay, but rumors have to start somewhere and piss on his reputation.

She flushed with rage. "Do not speak ill of my brother! There was not a more honorable man in the seven kingdoms."

"So honorable he stood guard while his price raped his seed into me," I hissed. "Piss on his honor, not that it would come out any more stained."

She gritted her teeth and stood up, the anger clear on her face. "I piss on the honor of House Stark! I know well you went with the prince willingly!"

Andrew turned to me, a fire in his eyes. "Is this true."

Well shit. She knew. Maybe I should have fucking let the bitch jump, "I was expecting a short, merry romp in the woods to slight my drunken, whoremongering oaf of a betrothed," I growled through gritted teeth, "I did not expect the maddened fuck to drag me halfway across the realms to used as his fucking brood mule!"

I leaned forward, now lost in my own anger "Did you know your 'True Knight'," I spat the words, "Of a brother simply stood and watched. He watched as Hightower held me down. He watched as Rhaegar raped me. He stood by and did nothing while I begged. Pleaded to the gods for someone to make it stop! Do not speak to me about betrayal!"

"Your brother professed his love of me, and promised to wed me before the Heart Tree of Harrenhal! He swore to the gods!" She roared, "I gave him my heart! I bore his babe! I betrayed my own kin! I gave everything for him and he cast me away!"

I recoiled. For two reasons.

First. I suddenly wondered if I could get away with fratricide. I knew Ned Stark very well. I also knew well that his talent of speaking with women was pretty much the square root of zero. So bad that it would be able to warp space and time.

He'd sworn himself to her. And she to him... before a Heart Tree. Fuck a promise to wed. By the law and tradition of the North, along with those of a sizable chunk of the Riverlands, they were already husband and wife no matter what the worshipers of the Andel gods would claim!

Ned, you dumb motherfucker!

Second, and more personally impacting was a vague and horrifying memory that had me vomiting off the battlements before I could even catch myself.

Rhaegar, you contemptible fuck. I hope you spend the rest of the eternity being buggered by the Black Goat of Qohor!

No wonder the Kingsguard had done nothing! He'd plied me with enough arbor to pickle a Destrier stallion then egged me into swearing my love of him before the a Heart Tree.

Had you asked anyone of the North, they'd have laughed it off. A drunken oath to the gods was no proper oath, even one given before a Heart Tree, especially when you were tricked into it. But these ignorant, barbaric, southron bastards... say the words in front of a plant and its done and done! No wonder he'd been so smug the next day!

I just had to scream at it. All of it.

Until now, Andrew and Howland had kept to the side. A smart cock knows better to step in when the hens are having a throw down. There's no faster way to draw the ire of both.

"Are you alright," Howland asked me.

"The run was more than I was ready for," I replied in half truth, "Combined with the heated passions, my stomach rejected its contents."

Andrew on the other hand was tending to his sister. Simply rubbing her back as she sobbed. "I am going to have to have strong words with your brother, Lady Lyanna."

I looked up. "The hell you are. If someone is going to beat some sense into my idiot brother, it's going to be me!"

He blinked in some surprise. It wasn't often someone told a lord 'no' in his own castle. It was also rare for someone to insult their own kinsman. No, not just kinsman, their lord so casually.

Well shit.

"My apologies my lord" I said, drawing back somewhat, "I misspoke and I..."

He laughed with a raised hand. "You're a strong willed lass, Lyanna Stark. And after all you have suffered, I find your ready defense of my sister somewhat humbling. But do mind yourself. Not all will be as understanding."

I flushed. "Thank you, m'lord."

Ashara glared at me. "What more can be said. He rejects me."

I shook my head. "Eddard is a good and just man. But he gets stupid when honor is involved. And this time he made himself quite the tangle."

"I'll say," Howland muttered to himself, earning a withering glare from Ashara.

"I believe that the only way to get his head out of his arse is a strong tug on the ear and the good sense of a woman!"

I cannot believe I just fucking said that.

Lord Dayne chuckled in amusement. "Very well, Lady Lyanna. I will allow you to attempt. But should you fail, there will be words between your brother and I."

I nodded, "Of course, my lord. But I will not fail."

"And I hope you do not," he replied before turning to Howland. "Tend to your lord, man, but know this. You've done House Dayne a great kindness."

Reed simply nodded in acknowledgment and left, leaving the three of us alone.

"Lord Andrew," I said looking up at him. "If I'm to properly badger my brother I need to know the entire story."

He nodded. "I'd agree that such a situation does call for the delicate touch of a woman."

Ashara glared at me once again, though most of her venom and her sorrow seemed to be muted, leaving her looking very tired. "Very well."

Andrew bent over and kissed Ashara's forehead. "Know that no matter what, dear sister, I shall always be here for you."

Then he separated from her and gave us the room to speak. He was still within earshot though. Honestly, it was more a respectful distance than a practical one.

After a moment, Ashara took a deep breath.

"Your brother and I fell in love during the tourney at Harrenhal. He promised himself to me and I him before the weirwood and we made love under the stars. Soon after I discovered I was with child and left the company of the queen, returning home to hide my pregnancy. I hoped that I could be reunited with my love, but then I discovered he'd been forced to marry that Tully bitch," she snapped, "But I persevered. I am no fool, Lady Lyanna. I spent years as the princess's handmaiden. I know the realities of men, of war, and of the Game of Thrones. A second son may marry for love, but the heir marries for the good of the family. Tully offered him an army..."

She took a deep breath as she began to choke up.

"He'd have been a damned fool to say no, and I can't even tell myself I wished he did for had he his cause would have been doomed and his life forfeit," a tear ran down her face. "I held onto my hope that we could be together. Even if I were to be his paramour rather than his wife... Even when my beautiful girl was born with her cord around her neck, strangling the life from her even as I struggled to give it to her I held on because it was all I had left!"

Now the tears flowed freely, and I could feel my own building. Through Lyanna's memories I could understand her pain all too well.

"I even told him where to find my brother in hopes he'd take me. In hopes we could bring this madness to an end and be together. And he rejected me! He said that he wished it could be so, but his honor demanded! I betrayed my own kin, made myself a kinslayer if by proxy, and still he rejected me. After all I'd done and been through I could not bare to go on..."

"I understand."

"How could you?"

I blinked and gave Ashara a level look. Seriously?

She flushed as she realized who she was talking to. "My apologize my lady I..."

"Do not apologize," I replied, "You're not the only one who tried to throw herself from a tower in her sorrows. We're the same you and I."

I sighed and took a deep breath. "I almost died on the birthing bed, you know? So much pain. So much blood. Sometimes I wish I had. Gods take me and spare me all of this shit."

"What? But you still have your babe," she said with a sad frown, "And your love."

"Your babe was born of love and taken far too soon. Mine was forced upon me by a monster, but I love him regardless. He carries no guilt as to how he was brought into the world. But now I am forced to fear how long he'll be permitted to remain in it.. Will Robert permit him to survive, or will he strike him down as 'Dragonspawn'? Will I have to surrender him to another to save his life? And speaking of Robert, he's my betrothed, not my love. Knowing that lusty oaf of a man he's probably sired a bastard for every month of my captivity."

I knew at least one I'd have to order recovered. Not killed, I'm no monster. Rather I wanted to rub Robert's face in it like you would a dumb puppy who kept shitting on the rug.

"Look at us!" I laughed with exasperation, "Damaged goods the both of us, forsaken by the gods and cursed with misfortune and the stupidity of men."

She glanced over and raised an eyebrow. "Aren't the last two one in the same?"

I laughed. "Ha! Bugger Eddard and Robert both. I'm almost tempted to ask you to be my paramour! To the hells with the company of men!"

She laughed. Which was a little disheartening because I was serious. But you know what? This really was teaching me an important lesson.

Misery really does love company.

The first thing I realized when I entered was how tired Eddard looked. For a man barely two-tens in age, he looked closer to twice that. It seems that the little trainwreck that almost led to Ashara taking a short walk off a tall tower has put him through the wringer too.

Good. Because it meant I'd have less work to do.

"Well, Lady Lyanna," Howland replied drolly, "I've told your lord brother than you wish to have words with him."

"Thank you Howland, you are a good and true friend. Would you like to remain for the conversation?"

I could see a moment of hesitation on Howland's face. It was a private issue we were about to discuss. On the other hand I was offering him a rare opportunity to cut loose and watch as his friend and liege get reamed a new hole from which to do his business.

It was the eternal choice between proprietary and schadenfreude.

"I'll wait outside the door," he said after a moment, a distinctly amused twinkle in his eye.

Good man, I thought to myself. Out of sight so as not to be there in your friend's personal business. In fact it could be argued that in doing so he'd be actually protecting his lord's privacy. Close enough however that he'd probably be able to at least catch the highlight reel through the door.

Always take the third option.

Howland slipped out while Ned turned to me. "Yes Lyanna how may I..."

My strike was swift and perfect. As a trained warrior, had he been expecting it I would have never been able to get it past, but he wasn't so I did.

It was a proven technique, a cupped hand at exactly the right speed and angle, applied judiciously to the back of the head to produce an audible clap and intense but otherwise completely non injurious stinging sensation that would fade in moments while leaving a lasting impression.

In other words, a flawlessly executed Gibbs slap.

"Lyanna!" Ned exclaimed shocked and somewhat put off. "What has gotten into you?"

"I just had a short conversation with your wife," I replied with an annoyed deadpan.

"My wife?" He blinked. "But Catelyn is in..."

I slapped him again, and surprisingly he didn't think to block it. He probably didn't think I'd make a second attempt. If I were to risk a third. He'd be ready for it, so I wouldn't.

"Your other wife, dumbass," I growled.

"My other..." His eyes went wide. "Ashara."

"Yes, Ashara. Who almost jumped off a fucking tower because of your raging stupidity."

His eyes went wide with frantic horror and his voice came out a strangled whisper. "Ashara what?"

"You bungled your last conversation so badly. So horribly... so... so... so epicly awful that in a thousand years when both our names and deeds are naught but faded lines on crumpled parchment remembered only by shriveled elderly maesters, the story of Ned, the Dumb Puppy of Winterfell who was so fucking inept at talking to girls that they'd try and kill themselves at the sound of his voice will still be sung in taverns across the realm by enterprising bards in exchange for fast coin and cheap wine," I paused for just a moment and steadied my voice. "Congratulations."

"She..." he took a deep breath and closed his eyes to steady himself, "She tried to throw herself from the tower?"

He fell into a chair and cupped his face with his hands. "My gods. What have I done?"

"You fucked up," I replied, "I don't blame you for the mess, but I blame you for the handling."

He looked up. "I was trying to do what was most honorable. I am bound by oaths to house Tully, and am wed to Catelyn. She's bore me a son."

"And Ashara bore you a daughter," I replied. "Would you have your child buried as an ill-begotten bastard or as a Stark?"

Ned recoiled as if struck and the pain that simple statement brought was enough to drive the breath from his lungs. He opened his mouth to reply but I did not allow it. I simply wasn't done twisting the knife.

"You swore yourself to Ashara before the gods, Ned. She bore your child. She stayed loyal to you. She even betrayed her brother's secret to you that I might be saved. She's earned the right to call herself my sister in every way, through her own actions and loyalty."

For a moment his eyes filled with a combination of pain, longing and regret, but then he took a deep breath. "If it were but a perfect world..."

"Ned," I looked him in the eyes, "There is no truly honorable way out of this. Someone is going to be disgraced. I only see two ways out of this. The first is to hide your own dishonor, saving face and dishonoring Ashara. The second, you fess up and figure out a way to minimize the damage."

He glanced up and frowned. "And how do you suppose I do that, Lyanna?"

"I think Ashara had a pretty decent idea. She knows she's of the lesser house and is willing to accept the disgrace of not being seen as your true wife. When in Dorne, do as the Dornish do. Take her as your paramour."

"Hoster Tully's already gotten what he wants. His grandson will be Lord of the North. He doesn't own you any more than you're the master of Riverrun. As for Catelyn, it's time for the princess to pull her heads of our her stories and grow the fuck up."

"Lya!"

"I am serious, Ned. She should give seven blessings every morning to each of her seven gods in thanks that you're not more like Bran. You bring one woman in the name of love and honor. He'd probably end up siring a bastard on every maid in the castle, and on every other wench that should catch his eye."

I took a deep breath. "The bitch is going to have it lucky. She's being forced to live with one of the brightest stars of the realm, in the peace and beauty of Winterfell. I have to go to the piss encrusted cesspit that is King's Landing to marry your drunken idiot of a best friend. A man whom I can't even trust because I'm terrified that he might fucking murder my son!"

I poked Ned in the chest. "You do the right thing, Eddard Stark. You obey your obligations or I swear by all the gods old and new that I'll take Ashara as my own damned paramour! I'll gather up my son, sweep her away to Bravos!"

My breath began to quicken. "Where I won't have to deal with stupid, drunken louts and their hundred bastards! Where I don't have to be surrounded by fucking more Kingsguard!"

My volume began to rise.

"Where I don't have to worry about him throwing me in the fucking Maidenvault like the Motherfucker and that fucking tower! Where I don't have to worry about him raping babies into me like the Mad King did every fucking child Rhaella ever bore him!"

At this point, I was screaming.

"I didn't escape from that endless hell just to walk back into it Ned!"

"And you won't!" Ned exclaimed, seizing me by the shoulders. "Look at me, Lya. Look at me!"

I choked and I looked up.

Ned pulled me into a fast embrace. I could feel his heart beating in his chest as he held me tight, his arms wrapped around me.

"Lyanna, I swear to you now. I will swear to you again before a Heart Tree. I will swear on my very life and soul that if Robert does any of this. I will forsake all bonds of friendship. I will break with the Iron Throne. I will call my banners and I will take you back. Do you understand me, Lya?"

"Y-yes."

"Good." He took a deep breath and continued to embrace me, probably as much for his comfort as my own. "Gods I fucked up."

He sighed, releasing his breath.

"I didn't realize you were so afraid. But considering the situation, they're understandable. I'm going to have to talk with Robert before you are wed and make sure there are assurances given."

I nodded and the two of us broke our embrace and all but fell into our respective seats. Fucking Christ. I hadn't even seen that coming myself. Shit, was I a neurotic mess.

"Ned, don't fuck over Ash," I looked up, "Man up and take your lumps. She saved me as much as you did and sacrificed as much as anyone to do it. I owe her. House Stark owes her. If you reject her after all she's done, than all that honor you like to talk about is nothing more than piss and shit."

He chuckled, but it was a hollow thing."Gods, did I mess up."

"Yes," I rolled my eyes, "Because you totally knew that I'd get kidnapped and our brother and father would get murdered, and that the most glorious and oh so reliable ally of our family, Hoster Fucking Tully, wouldn't even piss on us if we were on fire before his daughters were well and auctioned off to the highest bidder."

"That's not entirely fair," He complained.

"Fuck fair," I replied, "Nothing is fair and the only justice in this world comes from the hands of good men. I'll take the cold, cruel comfort of naked honesty over delusions of fairness."

He closed his eyes. "What happened to you, Lya? You used to be so bright."

"She died," I replied without any hesitation and in the utmost honesty. "The bright, happy girl you knew and loved died in that fucking tower screaming and in pain and terror. I'm nothing more than her broken, bitter, rage-filled specter, damned by the gods to walk the realm and haunt the living."

"I'm sorry I..."

"Don't blame yourself," I sighed. "You're probably the only person who isn't in any way at fault. Blame Robert for being a whoremongering idiot. Blame father for betrothing me to him, despite knowing how miserable I was. Blame me for running off into the woods with a lunatic. Blame Brandon for being an impulsive idiot. Blame the Mad King for being a paranoid maniac who couldn't get his dick hard unless he first burned a man to death. And blame that Motherfucker Prince for... fucking everything he's ever fucking done."

I leaned back, "But you're not at fault. You saved me. So did Ashara. So don't fuck her over."

"You're right," he replied, standing up. "This is my responsibility and my burden to bare. It is not Ashara's nor Catelyn's. I was hasty and did not think things through before, I will apologize. I'll figure out a way to make this right. "

I smiled. "Good. So a little bit of advice from your believed sister?"

He looked down with a slight grin. "Could I stop you?"

I laughed. "Probably not. First, though, you're going to have to beg for this one. I hope you think Ash and Cat both have sweet arses because you're going to be plying them both with many kisses."

He actually cracked a smile. Probably because combined they were some of the sweetest asses in the realm.

"Second. Just remember, that the point here isn't to make everyone happy. In fact, you're probably going to make everyone miserable. The point is to keep it bearable and make sure no one is more miserable than the others."

"Anything else, my great and wise sister?"

"You're going to burn a lot of good will with this one," I replied, "So you're going to have to build it back up somehow. I'd suggest asking Robert to become his Master of Laws. Justice suits you and it'll show the realm that despite your fuckups you're still an honorable man. Plus it'll help you make sure your sister isn't left hanging in the capitol without any support so if Robert were to say, lock me up in the Maidenvault, you'd just happen to have control of the Goldcloaks."

He frowned at the last part and shook his head. "Lyanna, we're going to have to talk later."

I nodded. "Probably, but right now you need to speak to Lord Andrew about his sister, and I feel a nap coming."

Eddard paused for a moment then nodded. "Sleep well, Lya."

I smiled as I closed my eyes. Don't worry, Ned, I have it well in... zzzzzzzzzz...


	7. Colors of the Wind

I awoke to the sound of feminine giggles.

"Hu? Waz dat?" I murmured as consciousness slowly returned to me.

The big blur that was the world slowly focused and I found myself looking at the joyful and radiant, or was that radiantly joyful, face of Ashara Dayne.

"My brother wished you roused from your nap to join the feast," she said with a smile. "I dismissed the servant sent as I wished do it myself," her smile grew, almost lighting up the room with its intensity. "I wanted to thank you, and..."

She coughed and placed her finger to the side of her face.

Why would she...

Oh.

Shit.

I was drooling again in my sleep, wasn't I?"

I sat up with a most unladylike series of grumbles and groans before wiping the drool off my mouth with the inner of the overly long and flowing sleeves of this positively medieval Disney princess dress I was forced to strut around in.

I knew I was supposed to look my best when visiting a noble's castle, but shit, couldn't they design something practical?

Speaking of my mouth, I really needed a glass of water to wash it out with.

Old vomit flavor. Yuck.

Ashara blinked, maybe a little put off by the improper sounds I was making as I sat up.

"I just woke up," I muttered sleeply, "Give me a minute and I'll be the very image of the northern rose, but right now I'm just setting myself in order."

Almost as if to punctuate my point, I twisted my head to the left and then to the right, earning myself a pair of loud wet cracks.

Yeah, seems some of my more base talents carried over. Bet I could still belch on command too. Robert would probably love it.

Ashara on the other hand winced in sympathy at the sound. "Lyanna, are you well?"

"I'd say I'd never been better, but honestly I'd be lying," I sat up and arched my back, earning yet another series of cracks. And another wince.

"That... sounds painful," she said after an awkward moment.

"Actually, it feels pretty good, really takes the tension out," I yawned and sat up. "Okay, I'm up. Time to look all ladylike and shit..." I paused. "Hows my hair?"

She laughed. "Somewhat disheveled. I'll have one of our girls fetch a brush."

"Don't bother, I'm the She-Wolf of Winterfell..." I replied as I ran my fingers through my hair to tease out any bedhead and then shook it loose, "I'm supposed to look a bit wild. How do I look now?"

"Positively windswept," she replied drolly.

I chuckled. "So I take it I'm presentable?"

"Enough," she replied with a twinkle in her eyes.

* * *

My first meal at Starfall was something to behold for both parts of myself. I'd never really enjoyed the delights of a castle kitchen, and while much of the food was alien or exotic, more than enough of it was familiar. Lyanna on the other hand had pretty much subsisted on overglorified camp rations and crude peasant fare for most of the previous year.

Now, while the Daynes were Stony Dornish of First Man decent, they were also proud of their kingdom and it's unique culture and I had a feeling that they were playing it up a bit with their table fare. In medieval culture, the foods you served were a symbol of power and status, and in this case they were exalting the flavors and tastes of their homeland.

The foods were many and they were all delightfully exotic. There was of course, the eternal Dornish staple of flatbread and hummus with olives. The omnipresent stuffed grape leaves also made an appearance. Dates stuffed with nuts and drizzled with honey. Fresh plump figs. Citrus fruit a plenty. Lamb kabab. Dornish Snake. Lemon roasted turbot. Fucking lobster.

All washed down with a liberal selection of Strongwine, Dornish Red, and Lemonsweet.

Didn't much touch the wines. I couldn't handle the acidity of the Red, and after what happened last time Lyanna got fall down drunk, I doubt I'd ever be able to get drunk again. The Lemonsweet on the other hand was the best damned lemonade I'd ever had, and I love lemonade.

Lyanna was never really overly appreciative of food, having been raised on a relatively bland northern diet. Lots of root vegetables and red meat. Tasty. Healthy. Bland. At its best, rather British to be honest and at its worse, not something to be wished on an enemy.

I on the other hand was a proud and dedicated foodie. I'll eat almost anything and I have a love of the flavorful and exotic. It doesn't have to be fancy and I don't really care how strange it is, if it tastes good and doesn't seem like a heath risk or offend me on an ethical level, I'll try it.

And before me was a table of delights. So naturally, I had to try everything.

Howland and Ned on the other hand were a little less adventurous, much to the amusement of our hosts. From the small smile on Lord Andrews face, I had a feeling that while he respected Ned, he wasn't entirely appreciative of the whole clusterfuck that lead to his sister almost killing herself.

Ashara on the other hand looked as radiant as always. Her face was positively aglow and she seemed as if she would like nothing less than to snuggle at the table. Which would have been seen as improper in most kingdoms, but like most Dornish women she was somewhat shameless by standards of those from more northern reaches. Something to emulate I'd say.

Lord Andrew, was of course, sitting at the head of the table, and by his side was his lovely wife, Ayme of House Fowler. She was an extremely comely lass of about 20 name-days, with long golden hair, plump lips, and a freckled face. Assuming I didn't butterfly him out of existence, this was probably the woman who'd one day bare Edric Dayne.

This was also my first time seeing the young Allyria Dayne. The little girl was absolutely adorable and it was my bet that given time to grow and flower would grow into a beauty to rival her sister.

"The secret to enjoying Dornish food," I said with a smile as I took a wince inducing bite of Dornish snake, "Is understanding that pain is a flavor."

Fucking shit, that Dragonpepper sauce just kicked my ass. It was like napalm cut with wildfire! I loved spicy foods, but this body just didn't have the resistance I was used to. Thank god for the Lemonsweet. It was keeping me going through the burn.

Still, I needed to dull the fire a bit. "Girl," I called to a servant, "Fetch me some heavy cream."

"Lya," Ned said after a moment, "I find your new found taste for Dornish cuisine to be rather unexpected."

And shit, I can see why. Lyanna simply couldn't stand the heat of spicy foods.

I sighed. "Ned, before everything went from bad to worse, _he_ tried to ply me with good foods. It was normally a choice between eat Dornish or starve. I'll freely admit that I've developed something of a taste for it despite myself."

He looked equal parts pensive and appalled for a moment before nodding, a pained grimace on his face.

"The bones of your companions should be ready for transport in two days," Andrew stated, interrupting the awkward silence, his attention on Ned.

Obviously relieved by the distraction, Ned nodded in response. "Thank you, Lord Andrew."

"Make no mention of it. Had it been Ashara taken by a madman, I'd want nothing less for those who fell to take her back,"

Ned flinched ever so slightly. I'd missed some important conversation. "Again, thank you."

"We've also remanded Arthur's remains to the Silent Sisters," he added, "We'd all be appreciative if you would attend his funeral."

"We'd be honored," Ned replied.

I glowered slightly, but said nothing. I despised the man, but at the end of the day he was kin now. That meant I was required to attend and look like I meant it.

"Lyanna?" Ashara asked.

I sighed. "Ashara, I will be honest with you. I will never mourn your brother. What he was party to I cannot forgive. But as far as I'm concerned, you're kin now," the details of how this all came about were somewhat befuddling the more I thought about it, but still, "Which means, as much as I am loathe to admit it, so was your brother."

I let the moral implications of aiding in the kidnapping and serial rape of your de-facto good-sister hang for a moment I took a soothing slip of cream to dull the burn of the Dornish Snake.

"Truly blessed is the person who actually likes everyone in their family," I stated drolly.

Little Allyria pouted. "I love all my family!"

I raised an eyebrow. "Just because you love someone doesn't mean you have to particularly like them. For example I've heard talk that your kinsman Gerold is a right nasty little brat."

She flushed but lowered her head, muttering in agreement. It was rather adorable. Everyone else clearly thought so as well, as laughter abounded.

"You have my thanks, Lady Lyanna" Andrew said after a moment. His eyes flickered to Ned and then moved over to Howland. "I would invite your man too."

"It would be my honor," Howland replied.

I sighed and leaned back. Oh, I was so not looking forward to this. I'd have to act all pensive and respectful when all I'd really want to do is break out into an impromptu rendition 'Ding Dong the Witch is Dead'.

I turned my attention back to the food and away from the table side conversation, which at this point had degenerated into Ned and Howland talking about how awesome a fighter Arthur had been while the Daynes lamenting about good a man Arthur was before The Motherfucker trapped him in the honor strangling Catch 22 from hell.

As for the food, I decided to try the lobster. I liked the Dornish Snake, but while the mind was willing, my body was not ready. The lobster on the other hand, was perfect, with lemon and butter sauce. It almost reminded me of home, except far better cooked than I'd ever had before.

I will freely admit that I was ready and willing to eat like a Roman if I had the chance. The food was just too damned good.

I could see why Robert turned into a fucking blimp. I'd do the same if I didn't keep myself in good shape.

"Mmmm..." I moaned as I ate one of the grape leaves, "So good."

"It seems that our Lady Wolf is enjoying the food," Lady Ayme said playfully.

I flushed somewhat but I was left with two choices. First, I act embarrassed. Second, I run with it.

I smirked and leaned in. "If you'd been forced to subsist on a diet of hardtack and boiled shoe leather for the better part of a year, you'd be making unladylike sounds as well if offered such a feast! In fact, I think I feel one coming on right now..."

Yep. I could still burp on command. It was loud. It was deep. And if there's been any more spice on my breath, it probably would have come out in the form of a fireball.

Lady Ayme looked momentarily scandalized. Ashara rolled her eyes. The men on the other hand were laughing their asses off. Even Ned was chucking as too was little Allyria... because you know how little children are. Though after a moment, the Lady Dayne did crack a cockeyed smile.

"You make a compelling argument," she said with some bemusement.

"Thank you, my lady, I do try," I replied with a cheeky grin.

"Lady Lyanna," Lord Dayne asked after a moment, "When you returned Dawn to us, even after what Arthur had been party to, you said that you wished a boon of me," He paused, "Then before you asked, you saved my sister's life. In my view, this leaves me double in debt. What would you have of me and of House Dayne. As long as it is in my power, I shall grant your request."

I sighed deeply. Fucking hell. "Actually, Lord Dayne, what I was to ask is now impossible to grant..."

He looked slightly confused. "How so?"

I glanced apologetically at Ashara then turned to her brother and took a deep breath to set my nerves. "When I arrived, I knew from eavesdropping on Arthur that your sister had recently birthed a stillborn a child fathered by one of my brothers. I was going to ask that you allow us to claim Brandon was that child. I fear for my son's life and such a fiction could offer him protection from Robert's blind fury," I closed my eyes, "But it's no longer a reasonable request."

Arthur nodded. "Aye. To claim your son was Ashara's would force us to lie about his age. It would make him older than the Tully woman's child. And as they swore themselves to each other before a Heart Tree... there would be those who claimed he was his father's true heir."

I nodded. "And just to make matters worse, even if they didn't house Dayne is a First Man line that dates back to the days of the Age of Heroes. The Sword of Morning fought by the side of the Magnar of Winter during the Battle for the Dawn. Your ancestors watched Brandon the Builder raise the Wall. Even if your family has turned away from the Old Gods in epoch since, your lineage is absolutely unquestionable in the eyes of the North. House Tully on the other hand?" I snorted, "Bunch of backstabbing Andel lovers raised up from nothing by a incestious Valyrian invader less than 15 score years ago on account that they're traditionally first in line to kiss arse whenever a would-be conqueror shows up. In comparison they might as well have mud flowing through their veins."

Ned frowned and moved to defend his wife, but I cut him off before he could speak.

"You know that's how they're going to see it, Ned," I snapped, "It would be the perfect recipe for a civil war, and I do believe we've all had well enough of that."

"And of course without that option, my little Bran and I are now left at the questionable mercy of my betrothed," I positively deflated as I fell back into my chair, this admission leaving me feeling rather spent.

Ashara frowned. "If you'd let me jump... or at least argued against me going north... this fiction would have been plausible."

"Don't remind me," I muttered bitterly, "Damn the gods for cursing me with a conscience."

* * *

The Old Gods were real.

On an intellectual level I already knew. I mean, at the end of the day, _A Song of Ice and Fire_ was a high fantasy setting doing its damndest to trick the reader into thinking it's low fantasy. The reality though is that magic is very real. The gods are very real. The kingdom was founded by three assholes riding fire breathing dragons. The weather functions according to the meteorological principle of "A Wizard Did It". And there's going to be an ice zombie invasion in about 15 years time

This knowledge however didn't prepare me for the sheer force of presence I felt when I walked into the Starfall Godswood. I felt them, the gods. They were there. They were watching me. Looking into the eyes of the Heart tree felt like looking into the eyes of eternity.

I wouldn't call it omnipresent nor omnibenevolent, but there was a weight to it that spoke of boundless wisdom, and an almost palpable sensation of... sympathetic concern. I couldn't make out any discernable emotions or messages. I wasn't a damned prophet, but I could feel their presence and it was very real.

How had Lyanna never felt _this_? Was it because I'd crossed over between life and death trapping my soul between two realms? Was it because I'd been sent here for a reason? Or was it always like this, and the locals had just become so acclimatised to the presence of magic and the divine that they were left numb to it?

I didn't know, but _holy shit_. I was having a _serious_ Pocahontas moment here. No kidding. I swear, for a moment there, I could paint with the fucking _Colors of the Wind..._

Trippy.

Massive, mind blowing mystical revelations aside however, it was pretty damned comforting. Kind of like a giant warm magical blanket, which suited my needs just fine. Right now I could use a little bit of mystical god prozac.

And it was thus that I sat down before the ancient Heart Tree, taking a moment to give good old Mother Willow here's roots an affectionate pat, and pulled out the empty ledger book I'd managed to procure from the castle maester.

I came here with a plan. And while I'd just added prayer to that to do list, I could vent to the gods once I was out of sunlight. For now however, my plan was simple. I was going to record the designs for everything I could. Every bit of science I could remember and I was going to do it in English.

The last thing I wanted was someone finding it and asking questions. I mean, there'd be questions anyways, but at least this way they wouldn't be able to see all the details or read the cliffsnotes version of _A Song of Ice and Fire_ I'd be writing in the back.

I began by recording as much of the Time Machine Poster as I was able to recall. Thank the gods I'd all but memorized it on a silly lark. At the time I'd said 'who carries a poster if they get thrown back in time'? I had no idea how right I'd be.

Then I moved onto what I liked to call the holy trifecta of DIY pyromaia: Gunpowder, Rocket Candy, and Thermite.

Seed Plow was another thing to sketch up. Not exactly sure of the detailed mechanics, but I'm sure I could find a blacksmith with enough sense of tinkering to make it work. The Cotton Gin was another. That one I knew how it worked. Mostly. Enough project for someone with more mechanical skill than myself.

I was wracking my mind trying to remember how a fucking combine works when I heard a step on stone. By instinct my hand flew to the dagger on my waist as a small burst of fear ran through me.

I couldn't help but remember the last time Lyanna had encountered a man near a Godswood.

I relaxed however when I saw that it was Ned.

"You startled me," I said with a sigh, moving my hand away from the blade. "So, are you here to pray, or just to bother your kid sister?"

Eddard smiled. "I believe I can do both. How are you, Lyanna. Really?"

I sighed and leaned back. "Honestly, I'm pretty damned awful. It's indescribably liberating to be free of that _fucking tower_ , however now I find myself neck deep in a world of shit."

He moved in and sat down next to me.

"Would you like to tell me why you think that way?"

I took a deep breath. "Ned. Right now I don't know what to do or how to handle any of this," I admitted. "I know I need to marry Robert... or at least I'm willing to entertain the concept as long as he stops acting like a complete fucking idiot."

Ned frowned. "Lya, he's my friend."

"Which is why you'll never really be able to see his faults for what they are," I replied. "You forgive him too easily."

"I know him, Lyanna," he replied, "Robert's a good man despite his faults. He will make you happy..." he frowned, "Or else."

I blinked. Did he just half-handedly threaten his best friend?

"I, Eddard Stark, son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark swear here before my sister and the gods themselves that should her concerns towards her betrothal not be addressed to her satisfaction, there will be no marriage. And should her fears of a return to imprisonment become a reality, then I will forsake past friendships and _take her back_."

I was left utterly slack jawed for a moment. Holy shit. He said he'd do it but... he actually did it. "Ned..."

There was a fire in his eyes, a passion. "I told you I'd make those oaths. And I'll make another one. Your son is my nephew and base born or true, it matters not. I will allow no harm to come to him. Enough Stark blood has been spilt in this blasted southron war."

"I... I..." I honestly didn't know what to say.

When it came to Brandon, every instinct in my body told me one thing. He was my son. That I was his mother. That it was my role in this world to love and protect him despite all else and no matter how he came to be.

It was overpowering, and I bore the marks and the memories of his birth on both my body and mind. I couldn't not love him no matter how much I'd rather not have to deal with this. So Ned so clearly offering his protection to my son was comforting in a way that I simply couldn't put to words.

As long as Brandon was safe, I could deal with Robert Baratheon. It was my death and over a decade tied to the most vile woman on the continent that had put him into his downward spiral. The simple fact was that he really was a lot like Brandon. An oafish drunk who liked pussy far too much, but ultimately, he was a good man. Or at least he wanted to be.

I didn't know for sure until I reached King's Landing, but I was pretty sure I could moderate his excesses or at least redirect them in less harmful direction.

"Ned," I finally said after a long pause, "You have no idea how relieved I am right now."

I released a deep sigh and leaned back against the tree.

"You've pretty much just covered my main three... well..." I paused, "Sources of irrational gnawing terror."

He blinked and sat down next to me. "Lyanna you've been acting different."

"I know," I replied. Shit. He was more observant than he looks. "I'm not the same person. Not after what I've been through."

He frowned. "You'll want to be careful. There will be those who think you mad."

"And there's all of three people in Westeros whose opinions I concern myself with, Eddard. Yours, Benjen's, and Robert's. And let's be honest, would Robert disapprove of the person I am now?"

He looked out into space. "No, but there are those who can influence Robert that might not approve..."

"You mean Jon Arryn," I stated cooly. "Who like most Andel men wouldn't appreciate the idea of a woman having a _voice_ as much as an _opinion_ or gods forbid an actual _personality_."

"Lya," Ned cut in with a scowl. "Jon Arryn is a good man."

"Never said he wasn't" I lied, "What I said is that he looks at the world through a traditional Andel lense. And by Andel tradition, women are little more than self-propelled statuary whose only appreciable duties are to look good and shit out sons while remaining silent and demure."

Eddard moved to sit down next to me. I carefully stowed my book and made room for him.

"I don't believe you're giving Jon enough credit," he said after a moment, "All I ask is that you don't make up your mind about him before meeting him."

"How are _you_ holding up, brother," I asked after a moment, having grown tired of talking about the most Andel man on the continent. "I know I'm not the only one to have had something of a shit year."

He chuckled and then released a deep sigh. "Well enough I supose. We lost Brandon and Father, my love life has become the stuff of lurid tales, and I feel that the honor of our cause was left irrevocably tainted by the Lannister's actions in King's Landing, but you are safe. Alive and well, and that my dear sister, it the most important thing."

I blushed. I was actually deeply touched by that. Sure I wasn't really Lyanna, even if I had the full sum of her memories and emotions. And what were we but the sum of our memories? And... I'm _so_ not getting into this existential bullshit right now.

"So, this thing with Ashara," I said after a moment, "Exactly what happened?"

Ned sighed. "Lya..."

"If I'm going to help cover for you I need to know the entire story."

He nodded. "Very well. After Brandon introduced my to Ashara, we started to talk and quickly became smitten with each other. Father had long made it clear to me that I was free to marry as I saw fit, though he made it clear that he'd prefer I found a suitable match..."

While I was auctioned off like a prize heifer. Lucky!

"Ashara was under similar conditions. She was free to wed for love under the condition that the man she chose was of sufficiently high standing."

I blinked. That was liberal as hell, even for Dorne. "Really?"

Ned nodded. "It was her father's last gift to his daughters. He made Lord Andrew agree to it on his deathbed. Apparently one of his sisters had been married to a man she loathed and he wished to ensure that his own daughters didn't suffer as she did."

"I see. Please continue."

"The next day I informed father of our decision. He was well pleased and claimed that she was an outstanding match. He asked me to not speak of it as he planned to contact Lord Andrew and arrange the Dowry as well as put to sorts the territory I would be granted as my landhold. He'd intended to make it grand announcement of it at Brandon's wedding."

"And then everything went completely to shit."

Ned nodded. "Yes. When Lord Hoster insisted I marry Catlyn in Brandon's place I tried to speak with Jon, to try and find another way, but he'd hear none of it..."

Okay. Never mind the whole 'give Jon Arryn a chance' thing. He'd be lucky if _I_ wasn't the one to poison his ass.

"I'm very much beginning to hate that man," I said understating my emotions on the issue.

"Don't," Ned replied, "I didn't explain the situation very well nor did I understand the full scope of the oaths I'd made."

He paused and then let his shoulders slump. "Lya, this entire situation has brought a great problem to my attention. I've been in the South too long. I'm no longer as accustomed to the traditions of our people and I fear that our people might see me as a foreigner... and now to bring home not one but _two_ southron brides, even if one isn't officially recognized for the sake of politics..."

"You'll do fine," I replied, "Just as long as your fair, just, and don't do anything monumentally stupid like building a sept in Winterfell..."

There was no way in hell that I'd let some clueless southern nun full his daughters heads with tall tales.

Ned flushed somewhat and began to fidget.

"Neeeed..." I said in a low dangerous tone. "Did you build a sept in Winterfell?"

"No," he replied weakly. "But I may have planned to... as a gift to my wife..."

I facepalmed. "Build one in Wintertown then. A small one. But not on the castle grounds. It's one thing to give those who worship the seven a place to speak to their gods. It's another to let Andel idolatry sake a claim in very beating heart of the North."

I frowned, "I wouldn't be surprised if your little Catfish had gone North with some personal delusion about civilizing the heathen North or some other such delusional nonsense..."

"Lya, I realize that for some reason you dislike Catlyn, but there is no reason to cast aspersions."

"I'm not casting shit, brother of mine," I bitterly replied, "You haven't had to sit in knitting circles with these silly little twats and listen to their vapid banter."

I'd never forgive Rickard Stark for his attempts to look to the south. The stupidity that Lyanna had to sit through for the sake of his ambition, which I knew well had been encouraged by everybody's favorite Vale Lord, was enough to drive a sane man mad. Or sane woman. Oh, whatever.

"Believe it or not, the idea of 'civilizing the heathen North' with the of the seven's light and the power of their magical vaginas is pretty much a well harped on common thread..."

Ned actually laughed. "Lya, now I know you jest."

"Yes, yes," I dramatically roll my eyes, "They actually would harp and on and on on about peerless beauty, the purity of womanhood, and all that rot, but when you get down to it, it's all just about the delusion that they alone possess the one true pussy..."

Dramatically I threw out an arm. "One cunt to rule them all! One cunt to find them! One cunt to bring them all... and in matrimony bind them!"

Ned actually began to laugh. "Stop! Lya! Stop!"

I pouted. "What?"

"I'm sorry, and I hope you don't mind me saying this but just now I actually wished Robert were here," His eyes sparked in the dimming daylight. "If he'd heard that entire exchange, betrothed or no, had he never even met you, he probably would have proclaimed his eternal undying devotion after that."

"I don't know if I should be scandalized or ecstatic," I replied with a smirk.

He chuckled. "Gods is it good to have you back, Lyanna."

"It's good to be back," I replied without thinking.

Okay. Not really. I'd like to be back... in a civilized world... but at least right now I was talking to the one not a jerk person on the entire planet. I had that much going at least, right?

"If you dislike southern women," he considered, "Why are you so fond of Ashara?"

"The Dornish actually expect their daughters to have a intellectual capacity greater than that of your average mollusk," I stated, "They don't spend nearly as much time filling their heads with useless romantic fluff. Instead they assume that they're not idiot children..."

"But enough of that. I tire to speaking of depressing things like reality," I smiled, "Ned, would you like to hear a story?"

Eddard blinked and then smiled. "A story you say? Well, I never knew you to be one for crafting tales. You always were more the kind to seek them."

"When you like stories and are the only one to tell them, you will quickly become adept even if you are your own audience."

He flinched slightly at such a flippant reference to Lyanna's captivity.

"Would you like to hear a story Ned?"

"Very well, Lyanna. Tell me your story."

I smiled and closed my eyes as I thought back. Maybe it was something about the way Lyanna's brain worked, but words I'd but read years ago came back to me with amazing clarity. Or maybe it was some blessing from whatever force put me here, but that came to me as if I were reading them anew. And given a chance, I really should record them for posterity's sake.

" _In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort..."_


	8. Right in the Feels

"Gods this is comfortable..." I all but moaned with a small smile as I plopped my perfect, pert little arse onto the bed within the guest chambers which I'd been given for the night.

Starfall was one hell of a castle. Beyond its looks which were right out of a fantasy novel, and by that I mean the happy kind not the incest packed grimderp that normally characterized Westeros, it was also exceptionally well appointed.

Now, I'd admit that part of these feelings might arise from having gone without any creature comforts for the better part of a year, though I'd like to think that was mitigated by the fact that I was also well used to the comforts of modern life. Several of which I found myself lacking in the extreme.

First, flush toilets. Something I'd have to rig up a design for post haste because good fucking god did privy's suck. They smelled like... well... rancid shit.

A solution to this was already in mind. Let's see... No indoor plumbing so maybe a small cistern which could be filled for a half-a-dozen flushes. A balanced lever which could be weighted in a way to balance it so when released it will fall back into its default position. And of course a U-bend. Could use lead pipe without complaint for ease of maintenance and manufacture because frankly you don't expect anyone to drink out of the fucking commode.

"Wylla," I said after a moment, calling over the peasant girl who now seemed to be taking the dual role as my son's wet nurse and my personal servant/minion, "Get me my book and pencil."

"Yes, m'lady," she replied as she rushed over with the aforementioned items.

I took the materials with a wide smile as I felt myself overcome by a wave of creativity. It took about five minutes to complete my rough sketch of a primitive gravity fed flush toilet and decided to move onto another modern comfort that I both missed and could reasonably invent. The shower.

I smiled to myself. Let's see. Easiest way to do it would be one with solar heating. Considering this was Dorne, the easiest way to heat it would be solar Maybe a black terracotta vessel that could be placed on a roof and fed via gravity. Could easily adapt a pull system to control the flow, and a simple sprinkler head is far from complicated. General camp shower done medieval. Simple, fast, comfortable way to keep clean without all the bother of calling a bath.

Hm. Maybe add some polished copper sheeting to serve as a primitive solar oven to improve its ability to heat. Hell, could actually spin something like that off into another invention. I bet the Sandy Dornish would love solar ovens!

While I doubted I would invent the internet any time soon, there were countless ways that I could add just subtle improvements that could help the nobility and common folk both.

Speaking of common folk I looked up to where Wylla was readying her own bedding. As my servant she'd be sleeping in my quarters, ready to do my will or feed my son at a moment's notice.

I frowned as I realized something. Outside when I actually needed something from her I'd barely even noticed she was there, which actually, was pretty normal. To most nobles they were one step removed from being just another piece of furniture. And I'd to my own disgust fallen into that pattern.

She'd done a great deal for me so far and I'd never even thanked her. On one hand I knew that was just the way things were... but... No. Just no. That... I wasn't that person.

I'd always been bit of an ass, I'd freely admit it. I'm blunt, opinionated, foul mouthed, and I can hold one hell of a grudge, but at the same time... I like to be nice to people and show basic respect. Not only because it's polite, ironic I know, but because sometimes a simply thank you can mean the world to someone.

People liked to be thanked. It's in our nature as human beings to seek appreciation. It makes us happy. And saying thank you takes nothing away from the speaker, but raises the mood of the receiver. There's no reason not to. It's why I also liked to even congratulate others on their petty victories.

Most nobles treated their servants like part of the furniture, and while I realized I'd have to maintain some level of noble detachment in public, in private I could be as respectful as I like. Not only would it be a simple human nicety but the more ruthless part of me, the she wolf daughter of a Lord Paramount, realized that it would be a fast way to get the loyalty of the servants. And happy, loyal servants are helpful servants who don't stab you in the back.

"Wylla," I said after a moment of thought, "Thank you."

The young woman froze and turned back to me. "M'lady?"

"You've done much for me and I'd like to take this moment to thank you for your efforts. You've served me well and I believe in giving recognition where it is due."

She smiled. It was a very pretty smile. She wasn't as classically beautiful as... we... me, but she was a pretty lass. Full lips, a button nose, and a soft heart shaped face, set with a pair of wide, expressive eyes brown eyes. With her wide hips, full breasts, and short stature was the stereotypical cute farmer's daughter.

All in all I'd rate her an easy seven. Maybe an eight if she cleaned up a bit. All in all, a fine looking woman. Given a chance, and the serendipitous return of my penis, I'd have happily screwed her silly.

A fact which brought with it a grim realization. She was only a year, maybe two older than Lyanna. Maybe not even that considering the fact that teenage girls could develop at vastly different rates. Hell, I'd had a neighbor growing up who was hit by the puberty fairy so hard, that at 12 she looked like she was old enough vote.

To be a Nursemaid a woman had to be lactating. To be lactating a woman needs to have been pregnant. If she was a young mother, by all rights she should be with her child. And if she was a young wife, even if her child had died as was all too common in this shit-fuck cesspit of a world, she should by all rights be with her husband. And then there was the fact that I'd remembered hearing that a woman named Wylla was both wet nurse to Jon Snow and Edric Dayne which meant she never returned home after leaving the Tower of Joy.

All in all, this painted a very grim picture. One that had implications that I found fucking infuriating... and one that I just might be able to help with.

"Y-you're welcome m'lady," she said after a moment having been someone lost for words, not that I minded given that I'd been a little distracted by my own thoughts.

I nodded to her in turn. "Wylla, you serve me but I do not know you. I would like to ask you a couple questions."

She paused for a moment and then nodded. "Y-yes, m'lady."

"How is it that you became a Nursemaid," I asked calmly.

He face went pale for a second and she bowed her head. "M'lady I..."

"If you are uncomfortable answering, then let me know and I will forget I even asked. There will be no repercussions. I just wish to know."

"I-I was a whore," she replied with sadly. "They found me in the tavern... I had milk in my breasts and no reputable women were willing to put down their babes so..."

"Did you leave your child behind?" I asked, "Because if so I can have it fetched."

She shook her head, "No, m'lady... my babe... he was taken from me."

I frowned and my "Take. Explain."

"His father... he was Ser Artur Skyl..." she replied sadly.

House Skyl, a bastard house of and sworn to House Manwoody of Kingsgrave. A name I knew because in a desperate attempt to have some form of human contact, Lyanna had convinced Arthur Dayne to teach her the fine points of Dornish heraldry.

But it made sense. Knight sires a bastard on a prostitute, takes the child. Old story, sad story. But considering the fucked up structure of the laws in Westeros there was really nothing I could...

"When he found out I had a babe, he took him from me and cast me out..."

My jaw clenched.

Wait.

Cast her out?

"I was a servant," she continued, seemingly ignoring what I said. At this point she was just talking. As sad as it sounds, I had a feeling no one ever just... listened to her before and being given a chance to tell her story she just wanted to release if only so she didn't have to bottle it up all that pain.

"One night he... I caught his eye, m'lady, and he decided to bed me. I said no but he told me it was an honor to share a knight's bed. I said I wanted to save myself but he... he grabbed me... and he tore my dress and... and..."

As her voice began to break with sobs I pulled her into a tight hug. "Let it out. Let it out Wylla," I said as she began to cry into my shoulder.

I held her for a long while, letting her cry into my shoulder. I petted her hair, I held her tight, I said comforting words and have her not just my sympathy but my understanding for I too knew what it was like to be in that place. To be violated and forced to bare the child of a monster.

And I sure as hell didn't cry with her.

Really.

Something got in my eyes.

That's my story and I'm fucking sticking to it.

So fuck you.

Funerals suck.

I never liked them. Neither did Lyanna for that matter. Yet here the fuck I was, looking at the fetid corpse of a man I fucking hated utterly under the false pretense of mourning his not quite timely enough death.

Oh, the things we do for and the lengths we go to comfort the fucking in-laws, I grossed to myself.

Arthur himself, he was a testament to the undertakers arts. I had to give the Silent Sisters due credit. They were very, very good at what they did, doubly so considering they were working with a literally medieval level of technology. They'd managed to salvage the body the best they could, and while it was obvious they'd gone to some liberties to reconstruct his appearance, he looked almost like a man and not the Walking Dead reject we'd dumped off on them the morning prior.

His face was covered with painted linen to give it an illusion of life, and not having been infested with maggots, while there were two clay discs painted like eyes over the empty sockets. A standard Southron tradition common to most peoples who worshiped the Andal gods. In the north it was more simple. We didn't do all these attempts at false preservation to make it look good. You just put a damned funerary shroud over top the body.

The only thing worse than the viewing of course was the ritual. Spells, Smells, and Bells. In my past life, I'd read that phrase used a couple times to describe Catholics, but they didn't have anything over the bloody Andals.

The smell of the incense was overwhelming, this I could understand. You have to cover over the stench of the body, but by the Gods of the Forest, the concoction they use was simply monstrous. In the North, it was common to use a single incense made from wild herbs and tree sap. It was simple, mellow, and did the job.

This shit on the other hand seemed to be a mix perfectly crafted to ensure that the cure was only a hair less pungent than the disease. Lyanna was never one for fancy scents, but I could tell at least half of whatever the hell it was they were burning probably originated east of Slaver's Bay and probably had a per-ounce cost higher than some precious metals.

Leave it to the Seven to make a funeral _smell_ pretentious.

The chanting thankfully was the least of it. While the actual content was completely inane, you could simply glaze over. Stop paying attention and it would become just another piece of the background noise. Given some time to let your mind wander off and you might even be able to catch a quick nap and hopefully sleep through the bulk of it. Or at least you could if it wasn't for the fucking bells.

By the fucking gods! It's like they perfectly timed each damn ring so you'd be just on the cusp of falling asleep and escaping this pain in the arse, and then... DING! You jump out of your damned skin and have to spend a moment reorienting yourself while at the same time trying to disguise the fact that you find everything just so agonizingly dull.

The clergy of the Faith of the Seven were a bunch of closet sadists. Fact. There's simply no other good explanation for this besides a cleverly disguised desire to spread suffering to all folk both great and small.

Jesus H. Titty-Fucking Christ! I swear to the fucking Gods! If this nightmare doesn't end soon, Robert's first son by me will be named Theon in the hopes that the boy lives up to the example of his goddamned namesake and puts every fucking Septon and Septa in the seven fucking kingdoms to the fucking sword!

Almost in response to my profane oath, the chanting stopped and for a moment I felt the very real need to rush out of the damnable sept, and give the Heart Tree of the Godswood a hug and a kiss on its big woody lips in thanks.

Of course, as expected, then the Septon stepped forward and dashed my dreams...

"And now we shall remember the fallen, that he may never die in our hearts..."

Seven fucking hells.

Slowly, with unshed tears in his eyes, Lord Andrew stood and began to speak, at great length, about his brother and what a wonderful man he was.

It made my stomach churn as I to tear up. No. Just no! Just fucking no! No! No!

I took a deep breath, clenched my fists, and closed my eyes. I did not need to hear this. Not after what he'd been party to! No! Just... No!

Breath in. Breath out. Let it pass through you and about you. Do not listen. Pay no attention. Think of something else.

Yes. Something else.

Like what to do with the realm once I become queen.

On all the forums I used to go to they loved to talk about fucking canals!

I'll think about canals! Or rather how utterly unfeasible they are!

If I could only tell them the tale of Walton the Witless.

He was King of the North about 600 years ago. He was obsessed with public works and saw himself as the second coming of Brandon the Builder. He was completely obsessed with the idea of "slitting the throat" by building a canal across the Neck.

He almost bankrupted the realm, lead thousands of workers to their deaths, alienated House Reed to the point that it took three generations and a marriage before they forgave us, and most unforgivably, his excesses weakened the realm enough that Tommen Teague was able to push his northern borders beyond the Cape of Eagles.

Now, while this might just sound like the standard comings and goings of pre-unification Westeros politics, one of the many men that King Tommen decided to reward with lands was a trumped up merchant who decided that he'd make his fortunes by building himself a bridge...

That's right, boys and girls. Walton the Witless's greatest sin was the fact that his incompetence is the reason that House Frey is 'a thing'.

So, yeah. Fuck canals. They only lead to weasels and tears...

"Lyanna..." Ned whispered in my ear, ripping me from my thoughts.

I jumped and my eyes opened. Uncomfortably I found myself as the center of attention.

Howland, Eddard, and the bulk of House Dayne, they were all looking at me.

I blinked and grimaced as I felt a chill go down my spine. I'd been doing my best to ignore what was being said but had noticed a silence that began a moment ago.

Oh. No.

Just... No. They really couldn't be expecting me to...

"Lady Lyanna," The septon asked with a hint of smug self-importance in his voice, "Is there anything you'd like to say?"

I was so going to have this motherfucker killed when I became queen.

I gritted my teeth and looked at the others. While Lord Andrew seemed tense, and was giving the septon a dirty look, and Lady Ashara had taken a slight ashen cast, there was now a sense of expectation that was firmly focused on yours truly.

I don't want to offend the in laws. But I couldn't force myself to lie and say something nice about the fucker. And even worse, I was being put on the spot.

I had to say something, and I had to do it fast.

SHIT! FUCK!

I took a deep breath and stood up. Fuck it. I'd be honest... but not too honest.

"I never met the good and honorable man about whom all of you have been speaking," I said after a moment of thought. "I only knew him as one of my jailors, for by the time I met him his time in the Kingsguard had broken him of it."

I took a deep breath. Great. It was fucking this up. "Listen. I... I... This isn't the time or the place to describe what was done to me, but understand that while I cannot help but hate him for his part in it in the end... Unlike Whent and Hightower, I saw shame in his eyes. The Mad King and his lunatic son... they destroyed all that they touched. They took one of the finest men in the realm and perverted his oath to make him party in deeds that... that just boggle the mind."

I bit my lip. "It is our place to serve, not to judge. That's what Hightower told him again and again, day after day. I was bound by chains iron. He was bound by chains of duty. He was my jailor, but in a way he was also my fellow inmate. He was the Sword of Morning, a man charged to be the paragon of chivalry and the Aerys and his son forced him to break every oath of knighthood. They polluted and corrupted and destroyed everything they touch! Because they broke him, just like they broke me. It's what they do! And..."

I rubbed my face.

My hand came back wet.

"I'm crying," I muttered to myself with a hollow chuckle, "Why am I crying..."

I shook my head and took a deep breath, "Just... just remember him as the man you knew, not the man I knew. Because by the time I met him... death was a release..."

I stood in place for a long moment struggling to find something else to say but I honestly couldn't. I couldn't summon the will or even the energy to go on.

"I can't say anything more I... please... just..." I could barely stand. I was feeling faint I...

Swayed slightly and found myself in Eddard's embrace.

I smiled tiredly.

Good old Ned. Reliable old Ned. His timing isn't always the best, and he can be a bit thick, but in the end, he's always there when you need him.

I love my brother.


	9. Interlude: Lord Andrew Dayne

Andrew Dayne did not view himself as a violent man. Yes, he was a knight and a lord, both of which were professions that required him to, from time to time, sally forth and end the lives of his fellow men. But he'd never do so without due cause nor did he ever take pleasure in the act of killing.

On the whole, he disliked fighting. Others would often talk talk about the glory of battle, but he ever could never put the blood and suffering out of his mind. Good men, whom in another life would have been friends slaying each other with reckless abandon. Entire villages set to the torch for simply being on the wrong lands. Boys hardly men, screaming for their mothers as they died in agony. Womenhood violated. The innocent slain. Injustice perpetrated on as grand scale.

No. War wasn't glorious, it was horrific.

Sometimes he wondered if this made him craven. After all, while the minstrels sang of men without fear and the old stories told of unshakable conviction, he couldn't help but admit that in war he was driven by an cocktail of terrors. He was terrified of death, but he was frightened more so by the prospect of disappointing his men, men far braver than himself, to whom he owed a duty.

It was why he'd so readily stepped to the side when his brother had sought to be the Sword of Morning. He'd always held his brother in the highest esteem, maybe even with some unspoken awe, despite being the elder.

Lesser men would have been jealous of his younger brother's talents, courage, and innate nobility, but Andrew had long learned that The Seven had simply granted them the tools they needed to accomplish their duties.

Andrew liked to consider himself cautious, thoughtful, and dutiful. As a lord, this is what was required of him, for his every action shaped the fates of every man and women, not only of his house, but in the families under his care both great and small.

Arthur on the other hand was noble, courageous, and bold. His every word was truthful and measured. When in battle, he'd never flinch. And when faced with cruelty, he'd been the first to act.

His younger brother had been his hero.

And thus it cut him deeper than any knife to hear Lady Lyanna speak of what had become of him. That the hero he'd known in his youth had died long ago. The man that died in the Tower of Joy had been but a lingering shadow of the knight he'd once been.

Part of him wanted to hate her for it. To deny the harsh painful truth, but to do so would be to make light of all she'd been through. To do so would be a rejection of his own oaths as a knight.

She was a maiden fair who'd been stolen from her family and defiled in the most ungodly of manners. Yet despite it all, despite being forced to bare the bastard of an inbred monster, despite being driven half mad by the experience she still found it within herself to stand tall, to love her child, and to articulate the true nature of her brother's downfall rather than simply spew hatred and dishonor his memory.

It had been the Dragons. She'd said it herself. They'd taken the most noble soul in the realm and defiled it. They'd taken his brother and transformed him into the obedient, unthinking agent of a madman.

Facts undeniable, a disgrace rubbed in his face, those of his entire house, and not to mention many of his Banners due to the actions of that damndable idiot, Septon Ryan.

He had no idea what had possessed the fool to place that sort of pressure on a woman who was obviously exerting the full force of her will to keep from falling into admittedly well justified hysterics, but he had his suspicions. Maybe he was just being irrational, but the entire situation unsettled his bowels, like an over-spiced pheasant.

He needed to know the truth of the matter and thus...

He sighed and leaned back into his chair. It was not the great stone throne in the great hall, which in ages past had been the throne of the Kings of the Torrentine. No. It was the over stuffed seat in his solar which didn't made his arse fall asleep every time he bloody sat in it.

"Gods forgive me," he muttered to himself. He hoped the Septom had been up to some sort of skullduggery, for he'd done the unforgivable.

As a lord, he understood all too well the value of men with less... scruples than himself. For Andrew, that man was Rychard Starkey. Descendants of a Dayne bastard from ages long past, given name and title in honor of his unflinching loyalty, House Starkey took pride in their willingness to dirty their hands that the Daynes may keep theirs clean, and Rychard more than most.

Officially, Richard was simply his gaoler. In reality his role was closer to that as Spymaster, Interrogator, and all around doer of dirty deeds. He's sent the man to the Starless Hall to reflect on his actions. Then he'd sent Rychard to find out why.

He sighed once more and took a deep swing of a strong red.

In the Faith it was said that the man who spilled the blood of a Septon would be forsaken by the Gods.

Andrew knew better than most that there was much you could do to a man without spilling his blood.

His reflections were interrupted by a light rap on the door.

"Enter," he said with some reluctance.

Moments later the door opened and in the doorway stood Rychard. With his great nose, dopey eyes, and weak chin, he possessed an almost harmless appearance that belied his true cleverness.

"My lord," Rychard said bowing his head respectfully before entering with an unnerving silence.

"What did you discover?" Andrew asked calmly.

"He was a loyalist," he replied. "It seems our good Septon Ryan was born one Ryan Crabb..."

Rychard scowled. House Crabb of Crackclaw Point, staunch Targaryen loyalists going back to the days of the Conquest. "Go on."

"It seems our good Septon had decided that his loyalty to the Dragons was greater than his loyalty to the Gods, or his good sense for that matter. He'd heard that Lady Lyanna was in a fragile state, but was keeping her wits. He'd hoped to press her that she'd make a scene and damage relations between House Dayne and House Stark that you'd turn towards a more favorable outlook. Possibly even turn them over to Prince Doran to serve as hostages."

Andrew sneered as his neck turned red with silent fury. The fool had acted in hopes that he'd dishonor himself and violate guest right? Thought so little of his wits that he'd believed the instigated rantings of a tortured woman would cut deeper than his brother's dishonor?

Gods help him, he wanted nothing more than to decent into the dungeons and strangle the life out of the bloody cunt.

"A son too craven for a knight, and to dim for a Maester, send him to the faith and pray he does no harm," he muttered remembering a bitter old adage that seemed far too accurate considering the situation. "How badly did you injure him?"

"He'll heal," Starkey stated cooly.

"Good," Andrew replied, finding it difficult to care. "He'll remain your guest until he does. And when he is well enough to travel, have him clad in the robes of a begging brother and dropped off on our northern borders. He can find his way back to Old Town from there."

"Of course, my lord." Rychard paused. "Shall I have a Raven sent requesting a replacement?"

Andrew smiled first the first time in many an hour. Good man. "Yes, that would be wise. Have them told that that his services are no longer needed and his presence no longer... appropriate."

Rychard bowed and made his way to the door. He smiled. It was a cruel thing. "As you will, my lord."

Andrew sighed once more as he left, but this time it was in some mild relief. Good help was so hard to find, and he was blessed to have it. Now if he only didn't find himself even more indebted to the Starks due to his fool actions.

Andrew scowled. Was it too late to have him trip and fall from the battlements?

He shook his head. No. He would do no such thing. He was a better man than that.


	10. Steak and Kidney

I don't know how long I spent lying on my back, but I felt like I'd run a marathon. I knew on a level it was just in my head, but the sad reality was that mental fatigue could slow you down just as badly as emotional fatigue, and I'd just been put through the ringer.

Or at least I think I'd just been put through it. It was dark out and I'd woken up not long ago lying on my back looking at the ceiling. And while it was a nice ceiling, I was quickly tiring of it.

What I'd do for some time on the internet. A TV to watch, or just about any technological convenience you dare mention. Hell, I'd settle for just a plate of Wings.

Yeah, I could really use some fucking Hot Wings. Or a Pizza. Or a cheese steak.

I sighed. That was one of the pains in the ass about Westeros none of my favorite junk foods were a thing. Hell, as Lyanna I'd never even heard of Tomatoes, Potatoes, or Maize while rice was pretty much unheard of, being extremely uncommon and mostly imported through Essos.

No potatoes means no french fries while no tomatoes meant no pizza.

I kind of had to laugh at myself, just a little bit. Here I was laying on my bed coming off a fainting spell brought on by what I could only call a small nervous breakdown and all I could do was wish I had some Wings and a bottle of Dr. Pepper. Or maybe some nice boar and maple sausages served with with peppered mustard. Lyanna had always loved them as a meaty sweet treat with the mustard adding a little bite.

Of course, good luck finding those in Dorne.

Either way, after what I'd been through I needed some damned comfort food. And if I couldn't just order it than by the Gods, I'd fucking invent it.

With a groan I sat up and smoothed myself out before looking in the polished steel mirror that was left by the bedside.

Gods I looked a mess. My hair was all over the place and my eyes were red and puffy.

"Wylla!" I called out. "How long was I unconscious?"

"T-throughout the evening, m'lady," my servant replied scrambling to rise to her feet.

I frowned. Great. Not only did I pass out, but I missed dinner. No wonder I was so damned hungry. "And no one thought to wake me up for the feast?"

The girl bowed her head. "No, m'lady. They... I heard your lord brother say you were in a fragile state and not to be disturbed, m'lady."

I gritted my teeth. Gods damn it, Ned, I'm not made of fucking glass!

I groaned and sighed. "Bloody fucking hell... ugh," I gritted my teeth, "Gods damn them I'm hungry."

I looked over. "How's my son?"

"Lord Brandon is doing well," Wylla replied with a smile. "He's a strong babe."

"Good," I replied. "If I'm present when he next cries, I will handle his feeding myself."

Wylla blinked in confusion. After all, most noblewomen pretty much dumped their babes into the arms of their wet nurses as soon as they were out. I on the other hand, felt I could more than benefit from the little mommy hormone high that came from feeding my own child.

Or maybe some good weed. They had hemp in Westeros, but for some reason nobody smoked it...

I smiled. Of course that might just be because the male plant was the one most favored for industrial use while the female was the one that could get you stoned.

Either way, it gave me some plans for the near future. Bugger the whole trying to invent shit to make the world a better place. At this particular moment in time, I wanted something tasty to eat.

Taking a moment to comb my hair and generally put myself in order, I strode out the door with intent.

"Wylla, tend to my son," I said with finality. "I'm going to the Kitchens."

I stormed out of my chambers with a hard set face. I wanted some comfort food, and by the Gods I'd get it.

"You!" I snapped at a passing maid who froze like a deer in headlight at my tone.

"Y-yes m'lady?"

"Take me to the Kitchens," I stated in a tone that brooked absolutely no argument, "Now."

"Of course, m'lady!"

The terrified girl nodded and lead me along towards the great hall, but instead of entering we took a turn down a side hall and I was quickly lead to a slightly rougher part of the Castle. That isn't to say it wasn't lovely. In fact, I'd bet a gold dragon that even the dungeons of Starfall were probably a far bit finer than most noble keeps, but this area was more simple in its accoutrements. Obviously not meant to be seen by noble eyes.

She eventually lead me to a thick wooden door which I gave a solid knock.

A cook's kitchen was his castle. I knew better than to simply barge in.

A moment later the door opened and I found myself looking at the face of a confused Stony Dornish gentleman with salt and pepper hair.

"Lady Lyanna?" he asked in some confusion. "Why are you here?"

"I have several items I wish you to make me," I stated calmly, "And you wouldn't know how to make them... so I came down to show you."

He flushed somewhat with obvious offense. "My lady, I must protest! I've been working these kitchens since I was a boy and know how to prepare the cuisine of all the kingdoms, as well as dishes of the free cities and delicacies as foreign as the Summer Isles and Slaver's Bay!"

I crossed my arms. "Fine. I want a cheesesteak with fried onions, lightly salted on a toasted roll... and a side of a dozen Hot Wings."

He blinked. "My lady? I've... I've never heard of such dishes. "

I nodded. "I thought as much. Would you like to know how to prepare them?"

He thought for a moment and I saw a small twinkle in his eye. The look of a master given a challenge. "Of course, my lady."

He stepped to the side and I entered without hesitation. Inside I saw that the room was already a small flurry of activity, with several servants moving about and the scent of fresh roasting meat in the air.

"A bit more alive than I expected for the night."

"Lord Andrew ordered us to prepare a northern styled meal to breakfast, as an apology for your treatment during Ser Arthur's funeral,"

"You're not planning on making kidney pie, are you?" I asked with a slight grimace.

"He did ask for traditional Northern fair," the chef stated.

I winced. "Well, my good man, you wouldn't mind if I ruined my appetite now and had to pass on it, would you..."

He looked thoughtful for a moment and then gave me an amused look, "No, I don't believe I would"

"Good," I stated with a sigh of relief, "Between you and I my good man, I'd say kidneys are only fit for the dogs, but feeding a good hound kidney would be cruelty to animals."

Lyanna had never like Kidney and I found the idea of eating them somewhat revolting. Between the two of us we absolutely hated them.

"Understood, my lady. I will admit I do find the idea of food that generates yellow steam when cooked rather unappetizing."

I shuddered. "Well then. Tell me, good chef, do you have the following ingredients on hand? I need fresh beef from the top rump, and do you have rennet for making cheese?"

"Yes on both counts, my lady. That beef was to have been used in a roast, but I see no reason some of it couldn't be sacrificed to a good cause."

"Good. Then have one of your dogsbodies slice several pounds off the end, against the grain. I'd say parchment thin but it need not be literally so."

He nodded. And motioned to one of his assistant chefs to begin slicing. "What is next my lady?"

"Long rolls, soft crusted, about so long..." I made a motion with my hands of your standard 12 inch torpedo roll. "Do you have anything as such?"

"We have similar breads baking, but it would take time to ready something exact," he replied looking slightly intrigued.

"Unless you can manage them in less than an hour, I'd say not to bother. Close enough is good enough in this case," I stated.

He learned in, starting to show obvious interest. "Exactly what are we making here, m'lady?"

"A simple dish, but one I do not believe you'll find anything quite like in the realm," I replied with a smile.

"I cannot help but admit to being intrigued, Lady Lyanna," he admitted with a smile. "What's next?"

"We need to prepare the cheese. It'll be a multiple step process, but it will only take about half an hour to make. First we need a solution of rennet, lemon juice and hot water..."

What came next didn't really bare repeating. It's a simple but somewhat time consuming process that didn't take long to master. At its core you're simply separating the curds from the whey by cooking them, and then knead the curds like bread until they get the consistency of a heavy dough.

"Is this ready, my lady," he asked, presenting me with a small ball of fibrous white cheese, fresh from the pot.

I smiled and withdrew a small knife, gently slicing off two pieces before spearing one with the tip and bringing it to my mouth.

I will admit, I almost cried. It was like a little bite of home. "It's perfect. You must try it."

He did so by snapping up the second slice in his fingers and his eyes went a little wide. "Outstanding, my lady."

I could see his eyes running with ideas of how to make use of it in future works. Deciding to give him a little nudge, I said, "Prepared into balls about the size of an olive, the gentle flavor of the cheese would probably complement the flavors of the traditional Dornish meal rather well, providing an interesting contrast to the olives and chickpea paste. Serve it in the whey to keep it wet and add small skewers, mayhaps?"

He grinned widely, "Yes, my lady. I do believe I'll try that. So what exotic delicacies do you have to share next?"

"Next we simply prepare the beef. Just ready a griddle with a little butter. Finely chop some onions into small pieces and cook them until they're clear. Once they are, put them to the side and cook the beef. Use two spatulas to keep flipping them while cooking and to chop the meat during the process so it becomes fine. Then, once the beef is cooked, mix in the onion and place thin slices of cheese atop the mass and let sit until it melts..."

He nodded. "And the rolls, my lady?"

"While you are cooking the beef, slice the rolls lengthwise, deeply but not enough to cut it in half then open it you would a clam. Place it back into the oven until it has toasted slightly and remove. When the meat is ready, transfer it into the roll with the spatula, making sure that the cheese is facing down. Lightly salt and serve."

He laughed. "Meat and cheese served directly on the bread. So simple but I've never heard of such a thing before," his face became slightly more thoughtful. "Why haven't I heard of such a thing in the past? It's obvious."

"The best ideas are those that are obvious once considered," I replied, "Now you've had the idea and I'm sure you'll invent a thousand recipes, each more delicious than the next."

He puffed up ever so slightly and smiled. "You're too kind my lady."

"I speak only the honest truth." I paused, "What is your name, man? I just realized I never asked and have no desire to seem rude."

"Aryon," he replied, "My name is Aryon."

"Well met, Aryon," I replied, "Now I'd like to get started on some hot sauce if you'd allow it."

He laughed. "My lady, I'm just wondering what culinary oddity you've to share with me next. Normally I am master of this kitchen, but for this moment I'm but a student waiting your next drop of wisdom with the most baited of breaths."

"We need a goodly volume of hot red peppers for this and some small crocks. If the peppers are dried, they must be rehydrated. Either way, once the peppers are ready, you remove the stems and grind them into a thin paste. Then you mix them with vinegar and salt. You place the resulting mass into the crocks and let it age for at least two weeks before removing to strain the seeds and skins. You could do it sooner, even immediately, but the best hot sauce is aged. Either way, the resulting substance is a red fluid that will contain the essence of pepper along with a vinegary bite. It's wonderful as both an ingredient and a condiment, and if, say, placed in something like a small bottle even a soldier on the march would be able to give his rations a bit of proper Dornish flavor."

At this point Aryon's eyes were almost shining. "Delightful! Absolutely delightful! Lady Lyanna, I hope I do not seem bold, but I do believe you're wasted outside the kitchens," he pointed to one of his minions and commanded, "Alyce! Begin preparing this 'Wolf Sauce' immediately! Make enough for parts! One strained, as I wish to sample it raw, the other two in crocks!"

I blinked. "Wolf Sauce?"

"I've never heard of such a thing before," he stated with a manic look in his eyes, "But my mind runs wild with the possibilities. Your cheese, your sauce, even your manner of preparing bread and meat all open so many doors. I refused to allow you to leave this kitchen without being properly honored. I know you called it Hot Sauce, but such a name is unworthy of such a creation. Please, allow me this, Lady Lyanna."

I was blushing. I was actually blushing. "Um. Alright. Just don't name it Wolf's Cheese. Alright?"

He smirked. "I can make no promises."

I crossed my arms. "Aryon..."

"I jest, my lady! I just!" he laughed. "Please take no offense."

"Feed me and all will be well," I said with a faux look of annoyance.

"Of course my lady," he replied. "Just allow me to check on the the preparation."

He walked deeper into the Kitchen while I learned next to the door, watching them work. It was an interesting sight to see cooking before the advent of modern convenience, but I knew they could work wonders even with the most simple of tools. Though from the look of things they were wasting that potential and creating puddings at the moment.

Puddings were a northern favourite, and Lyanna had always considered them a bit dull. She had her favorites of course, but on the whole there was only so much you could do with a boiled pastry. Though I was sure there were probably those who considered their simplicity a boon, and maybe I'd come to love them as I was far more the foodie than Lyanna had ever been, but for now I couldn't help but be less than impressed.

It was then I heard the door creak and open to show the figures of Lord Dayne as well as my own Lord Brother.

"Ned, Lord Andrew," I said with a slight curtsy.

Lord Andrew gave me a bemused smile and looked over the kitchens. "I was told that you all but accosted one of my maids, demanding access to the kitchens."

"I wouldn't say accosted, but I brooked no room for argument," I replied with a small smile.

He shook his head and sighed, in that moment looking very much like an exasperated uncle. "Aryon, Lady Lyanna has not been a bother, has she?"

"Anything but my lord!" he exclaimed rushing over with a bow. "She's actually shared several fascinating delicacies with me. In fact, give me one moment, my lords!"

Ned gave me a confused look. "Lyanna, you know how to cook?"

"Yes," I replied. Maybe I hadn't before, but I did now. "I know how to do a great many things, Ned."

He humphed slightly and pulled back slightly in thought

"Please try this," Aryon the Chef requested as he held out a small platter with multiple chunks of fresh Mozzarella cheese.

Andrew and Ned both took a piece and sampled it.

Lord Andrews eyebrows peaked somewhat. "This is quite good. What is it?"

"Lady Lyanna never told me the name of this cheese," he replied.

"You made this?" Ned asked with some surprise.

"I only provided the direction. And I have not given it a name, but if you're going to be naming the sauce after me..." I glanced at Aryon, "Then I only feel appropriate that the cheese be named after my generous hosts."

Lord Andrew's eyes shined with amusement. "Truly."

"Yes, my lord. I wish to honor House Dayne with this little concoction. Does the name Starfall cheese suit you?"

He smiled quite earnestly. "It suits me quite well, thank you my lady. You honor us."

I smiled at the man who honestly had gone from exasperated amusement to virtual prenning. In a Medieval world, like Westeros, anything that could reflect positively on a house and could travel was of great value. Being the namesake of delicious, simply made cheese might seem like a silly thing to a modern man, but here in Westeros food was propaganda.

It was one of the reasons house Redwyne was so well liked, thought well of even by people who'd never really knew much of them. Just say they're the ones who make the famed Arbor wines and people would speak well of them. It was for that reason that Lord Andrew was so well pleased. It also was why he'd make sure that the recipe for Starfall cheese would spread far and wide. When people ate it they would remember the name of his family and house and think well of them. In ten generations, baring Ice Zombie Apocalypse, chances were good that it would still be giving good name to House Dayne. Just as Wolf Sauce would give to House Stark.

Moment's later, Aryon slipped off and returned with four sandwiches of differing sizes. One was larger than any of the others by a good deal, enough for a meal, while the other two were about half the size. The third was small and more a sample than anything.

"What's this?" Ned asked with a peeked eyebrow.

"A 'cheesesteak'," he replied, "It is what Lady Lyanna came to have me prepare. It is beef and onion with Starfall cheese, served inside roll rather than besides."

I smiled and picked up my sandwich with a wide smile. "It looks delicious."

With a shrug, Ned took one and glanced over to me thoughtfully while Lord Andrew took one as well.

"Why not," the Lord of the Manor said with a shrug, still looking very pleased with himself.

Finally the Chef took the smallest sandwich.

"Now lets see what Lady Lyanna's efforts have brought," Andrew stated with a grin before taking a bite.

He stook and chewed and gave a nod of approval. "This is very good and keeps the hands free. Clever."

I took a large bite and chewed thoughtfully. It wasn't the best Cheese steak I'd ever had. Bread wasn't quite right and the meat was a little off, but you know what. I was perfectly happy with that.

Here I was, in Westeros stuck in the body of a teenage milf and I was eating something from back home. It was a touchstone. A small victory over the forces of the universe. A little piece of who I was that couldn't be taken away. They could steal my face. My gender. My name. My world. But fuck you, you can't take this damned sandwich away from me! So fuck you! I win!

"Lyanna?"

I glanced over to Ned.

"Are you well?"

"Am I what?"

I paused and moved a hand to my face.

Shit. I was crying. Over a damned sandwich, I was crying.

"I'm alright," I replied with an earnest smile. "I'm perfectly fine."

And maybe for the first time since I'd arrived in his hell of a world, just for this moment, all really was right with the world.

He nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. "Perhaps you should return to your chambers?"

I took a deep breath and smiled. "In a moment, Ned."

I quickly turned to Aryon who was slowly and carefully eating his own serving in small, measured bites, his face thoughtful as he considered the flavors and texture.

"I have one more quick recipe for you," I stated.

He paused and looked over. "I'm ready to serve."

"It's a recipe using Wolf Sauce. Take chicken wings. Cut them into three at the joints, discarding the tips. Fry them until they're cooked and the skin is a little bit crispy. Mix the sauce with melted butter and slather the wings in the mixture. Serve with chilled beer."

He nodded and gave me a bow. "Thank you, my lady. Know I will always think well of the night that you barged into my kitchen and honored us with your wisdom."

Moments later I found myself returning to my chambers under the escort of my brother and Lord Dayne. Ned looked pensive, while Lord Dayne's good mood hard dulled slightly.

"Lyanna, are you truly well?" Ned asked with concern. "Why did you head to the kitchen?"

"I was hungry, I wanted some food to comfort myself, and I was left with the options of either stewing in my bitter emotions or distracting myself by doing something constructive."

Ned looked down at his barely touched sandwich and nodded. "I would call this constructive but, I do believe we need to speak of this later."

I frowned slightly. "Alright..."

"Lady Lyanna," Andrew said, "I would like to apologize for that fool of a Septon..."

I frowned and shuddered thinking back to the funeral. Bloody bastard.

"He was a loyalist and was attempting to sabotage the relations between our houses," Andrew stated, "I've already sent a raven requesting a replacement and once he... recovers from questioning he will be banished from my lands and made to find his own way back to old town, clad in the robes of a begging brother."

"I'm surprised you're sparing him," I said with a frown, "What he did was treason."

Andrew frowned. "He's a septon."

"Still treason," I countered, "But I do understand the politics involved."

He grunted slightly with a nod. "Still, I'd like to apologize to you for his behavior."

"There's no need," I replied, "I don't blame you, my lord. There's only three absolutes in life. Death, taxes, and the stupidity of our fellow man. You couldn't control his idiocy any more than you can control the rise and fall of the moon. But your apology is accepted in the spirit it was given."

Andrew snorted with amusement and glanced over to Ned. "Your sister has quite the way with words."

Ned smiled tiredly. "Father always dreaded the moments where she'd unleash her harsh tongue. Brandon though, I believe he considered those moments a treat."

"My lord, though if I may make a request?" I added.

"Yes?" he asked.

"When you send the Septon away, shave his head and send him without shoes. His head to show his shame, and his feet bare that each fall of the foot would be another step to earning his penance."

Between the harsh Dornish sun, and the heat of the road, both would make traveling very uncomfortable, but still quite doable, assuming he kept an eye out for patches of gravel.

"As you request," Lord Andrew replied with a cruel sparkle in his eye.

Huh. And I thought he'd say no. Guess he's more angry than I thought.

Good.

When we reached my room, Lord Andrew gave me a nod and a wish for a good night before turning about and leaving, finishing the last bite of his sandwich with a thoughtful look, leaving me alone with my brother.

There was a long awkward moment. "Lyanna?" he asked with some trepidation.

"Yes, Ned?"

"You've changed," he stated after a long moment.

I frowned. "After all I've been through, of course I have."

He shook his head. "No. I mean, I understand that... but you've changed in ways I can't explain. This food. The stories. The strange drawings of odd devices and the notes in some language I've never seen before."

My eyes narrowed as I felt a small stab of betrayal. "You were looking through my journal."

"Please don't take offense," he replied, "I was just trying to understand what happened to you."

I glared at him for a moment and then sighed. I was literally a different person and I wasn't exactly doing the best job in hiding it. "I understand. I'm not the same girl who was kidnapped after Harrenhal."

"That much is obvious, Lya. But who are you now? What aren't you telling me?" He paused. "I don't wish to seem like I'm prying but you're my sister. You and Ben are all that I have left..."

I moved in and gave him a hug. An awkward thing to do when we're both holding a sandwich.

"Ned. I love you too," I said with complete honesty. How couldn't I? He was my brother who'd fought a war and risked his life countless times to get me back. "But I can't answer that question."

I pulled away. "Not yet. Maybe one day, but if I told you the whole story now, you'd believe me mad because even having lived it, it still makes me doubt even my own sanity."

He nodded. "I see. Then you'll tell me when you believe the time is right."

I nodded. "And when I believe that you'll believe me."

He frowned. "Please, Lya, have some faith in me..."

I grinned, "Did I mention that it would sound _really, really_ crazy?"

He sighed and placed a hand on my soldier. "Be well, sister. Please. Be well."

"Maybe someday," I admitted, "But right now... lets just find an balcony and eat there."

Ned smiled and nodded to me. "That sound good. Lets."

I smiled and took a deep breath.

You know what? I was a mess, but maybe given enough time, I could live with this and live with myself. But that could wait. Right now, I just wanted to eat my damned sandwich.

The Full Northern Breakfast prepared in my honor was actually pretty damned good. Classic Northern Fry Up really. Bacon, fried eggs, fried and toasted bread, a yak's worth of butter, several types of pie, and of course more sausages than you could shake a stick at. They'd even managed to dig up Maple Syrup.

Where the hell you'd find Maple Syrup, which while popular in the North wasn't really much of a thing south of the Neck in Dorne of all places, I don't know, but personally I attributed it to either the ability of a master chef to magic what he needed out of mid air, or the idea that somehow a small bit of the Dayne's proper First Man nature was overcoming their otherwise toxic Andal enculturation. Or maybe it was just one of the elements of why I liked the Dornish more than any other lot of Southerns. The strong Rhoynar influence tends to dilute the stupid.

I really can't explain, but who cares. Maple Fucking Syrup.

To say I was pleased was something of an understatement. If my main personality was pleased and given comfort by the sandwich last night, then my Lyanna half was on cloud nine after this little taste of home.

I actually cried a little. It was great.

Then of course Ned had to be a dick.

Though not the ruin your day, make me want to shank your ass kind of dick.

No.

He made sure to dump off some Kidney Pie on my plate.

You see, to understand this little bit of dickery you have to go back to when we were children.

I mean when Ned and Lyanna were children.

I mean... fucking whatever.

Anyways, Ned loves Kidney Pie. He really loves Kidney Pie. If he loved Kidney Pie any more, well, I'd have to ask Robert if he ever walked into Ned doing an awkward rendition of that one iconic scene from American Pie he loves it so fucking much.

So of course, he likes to try and get everyone to try some. Which in this case involved dumping a heaping slice off on my plate uninvited, earning him the kind of glare that could sour milk. Especially since then I was obliged to at least pick at it or seem rude.

Son of a bitch!

I wouldn't be shocked in the slightest if he actually thinks he's being nice, since he always has his patented dumb puppy smile on his face when he does it. Like if you force feed people enough kidney pie they'll turn around and love it.

Most annoying fact was that I couldn't even count on Howland to have my back on this one. You see, it seems that Lord Reed also loves himself some kidney pie. The motherfucking traitor.

Well, at least I had some common dislike in Ashara who took a piece for Ned's sake and also found it to be to her disliking. But being the demure, strong, and generally in love Dornish lass she is, she forced herself to eat it with a smile that couldn't have been any more plastic on a Barbie Doll.

Which meant I'd look like a spoiled cunt if I didn't eat it. So I did.

And fuck you too Eddard Stark.

Though the irony is. He did kind of throw a wrench in my special breakfast, but in the end I can't hate him for it. Sure. He was kind of a dick, but it wasn't the asshole kid. It was the purely organic and almost endearing big brother playfully fucking with his kid sister.

And note, I said fucking with, not fucking. You will find neither Dragon nor Lion at this table, thank the fucking Gods.

But the worst part. The most terrible part however is that my tastes seem to have changed a bit. You see, when you have an amalgamation of two personalities fighting for headspace amidst a virtual sea of severe mental and emotional trauma, there tends to be a great deal of bleed over.

Nightmares about the future, body and gender dysmorphia, an intense and purely rational hatred of all things Southron, bitter contempt for pretty much everything and everyone to be honest, the fact that actually lying with a man ever again fills me with an indescribable gnawing terror, and not to mention the fact that I seem to be at least mildly claustrophobic. Joy of joys.

But the relevant issue at this particular moment in space-time seems to be a simple one.

Kidney Pie... really isn't that bad.

But I'm not giving Ned that petty victory of saying that outloud. I'll never admit it, not even under pain of torture. I'll never admit that Kidney Pie is actually... almost kinda good.

Because fuck you, Eddard Stark.


End file.
